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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/electricspiritotOOsmitrich 


The  Electric  Spirit 

and  Other  Poems  by 

Marion  Couthouy  Smith 


Boston :   Richard  G.  Badger 
The  Gorham  Press 

1906 


Copyright  1906  by  Marion  Couthouy  Smith 
All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  at  the  Gorham  Press 
Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


ASCRIPTION 

To  him  whose  course  no  tyrant  fear  controls; 
Ruler,  inspirer,  friend  of  noble  souls. 


•AXJL.. 


w^mszz 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Electric  Spirit 9 

The  Call  of  the  Hour 10 

The  Old  Age  to  the  New 12 

The  New  Miracle 14 

To-day   14 

A  Hope  Far  Off 15 

The  Gifts  of  Love 16 

The  Eyes  of  Love 16 

Not  in  the  Hand  I  Love 17 

The  Hermes  of  Praxiteles 17 

Life   With  Love 18 

Helpless   Love 18 

To  One  Young  and  Fair 19 

A  Choice   19 

The  Awakening  20 

On  the  River  at  Night 21 

The  Kitten   22 

The  Hunting-Call  of  Spring 23 

Night  Song   24 

In  a  Hospital  Ward 25 

At  the  Concert:  A  Wagner  Number 26 

Love's  Refuge    26 

Love  is  Dead 2y 

The  Sours  Endurance 2y 

The  Lion  Caged 28 

The  Closing  Year 3° 


PAGE 


The  Vindication    30 

A   New  Friendship 31 

To  a  Young  Child 32 

Nocturne    33 

A   Guardian  Spirit 34 

The  Night  Flower 34 

Without  Intent 35 

New  York    35 

The  City   37 

The  Planting  of  a  Tree 39 

The  Joy  of  the  Hour 40 

Press  Song   41 

The  Soul's  Flight 42 

A  Child  Musician 44 

The  Greater  Way 45 

A  Room   46 

Fantasia    47 

A  May  Maiden  48 

The  Pine  Tree   49 

In  Quietness  and  in  Confidence 51 

On  the  River:    An  Impression 52 

A   Chorister   53 

A  Disciple    54 

A  Child  I  Knew 54 

On  the  Plains 55 

''To  Whom  Shall  We  Go?" 55 

A  Song  of  Kindred 56 


PAGE 


Lazarus    57 

Out  at  Sea 58 

The   Children    59 

October    59 

The  Song  of  Margaret 61 

Let  Me  Cry  Hope 62 

Portrait  of  a  Child 63 

Child-Life  Passes  Azvay 64 

Before  the  Dawn 65 

Chicago  —  in  i8p^    67 

In  Dear  Bohemia 69 

Chicago  at  Rest  —  i8p4 71 

In  a  Corn-Field y2 

Death's   Way    73 

Songs  of  War 

The  Song  of  the  Gunner yy 

The  War  Cloud,  1898 78 

A  Mother  of  'p8 79 

Ballad  of  the  Rough  Riders 80 

The  Men  We  Are 83 

The  Soldier  Ideal   84 

The  Reserve  86 

Earlier  Poems 

The  Watcher   91 

Loss  and  Gain  92 

Changes    93 

The  After- Word 

//  Words  Could  Reach  Thee 94 


THE   ELECTRIC   SPIRIT 

With  wild  wings  fettered  I  ride  the  wires, 
My  life  finds  issue  in  blinding  fires, 
Bright  shapes  are  wrought  by  my  flying  breath, 
But  my  touch  is  flame,  and  my  kiss  is  death. 

Since  man  hath  bound  me  with  coil  and  chain. 
Nor  sea  nor  space  can  his  word  restrain; 
I  wind  my  circles  of  burning  speed 
The  round  globe  over  to  serve  his  need. 

Of  warring  winds  I  am  king  and  lord ; 
The  storms  come  wielding  my  radiant  sword. 
I  laugh  in  light  as  the  swift  strokes  fly; 
The  sullen  thunders  make  slow  reply. 

With  mystic  passion  I  yearn  from  far 
To  my  secret  home  'neath  the  northern  star. 
And  thence,  on  the  vast  black  walls  of  night, 
I  fling  great  rays  from  my  gates  of  light. 

Time  flees  before  me,  and  none  may  know 
My  course  as  from  star  to  star  I  go. 
For  I  am  life.    In  the  utmost  dark 
God's  touch  enkindled  my  fervid  spark. 

Think  ye  to  know  me,  O  ye  who  raise 
My  torch  of  flame  on  the  world's  highways  ? 
Ask  him  whose  throne  is  the  central  light 
Of  countless  suns  in  their  wheeling  flight. 

With  fierce  strength  fettered,  I  ride  the  wires. 
Prometheus-spirits  have  tamed  my  fires. 
But  God  alone,  in  His  chosen  hour, 
Can  free  the  force  of  my  nameless  power. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  HOUR 
To  the  Poets 

Turn,  turn  to  the  East,  ye  singers, 

Lest  the  day  come  unaware! 
Llark,  how  the  steps  of  the  ringers 

Sound  on  the  belfry  stair. 
Soon  shall  the  bells  of  morning  chime — 
The  loud  heart-throbs  of  hurrying  Time — 
And  every  pulse  shall  beat  in  rhyme 

To  the  song  of  hope  they  bear. 

No  moment  is  left  for  weeping 

O'er  the  joys  of  vanished  night; 
The  soft-footed  hours  of  sleeping, 

The  feasting  and  mad  delight. 
Ye  may  not  loiter  by  lingering  streams, 
To  watch  the  maze  of  the  moving  gleams, 
The  shadow-dance  of  the  world  of  dreams, 

LTnder  the  stars'  cold  light. 

While,  lost  in  your  memories  tender, 

Sighing  and  dazed,  ye  stand, 
There  broadens  a  line  of  splendor 

On  the  black  edge  of  the  land; 
The  fair  trees  stir  from  root  to  crest, 
The  wild  bird  flutters  within  the  nest, 
With  the  thrill  of  dawn  on  his   ruffled  breast; 

The  day !     The  day  's  at  hand ! 

When  the  bird  up-starts  to  shame  you, 
And  sings  with  his  small  heart's  might. 

Shall  the  past  and  the  darkness  claim  you. 
Ye  prophets  of  God's  own  light? 

10 


Though  others  sleep,  it  is  yours  to  praise 
The  far-seen  glory  of  coming  days, 
Their  mighty  march  from  the  unknown  ways 
Through  the  star-paths  of  the  night. 

The  voice  of  your  dream  is  soundless, 

In  the  strong  world's  waking  ear, 
Though  the  grief  of  your  soul  were  boundless. 

The  love  of  your  life  were  dear. 
No  heart  will  heed  them,  no  voice  reply ; 
For  the  soul  of  the  race  lifts  up  a  cry 
That  mounts  at  last  to  the  brightening  sky. 

In  loud  demand  and  clear. 

For  the  rolling  wheels  make  thunder ; 

The  coils  of  the  lightning  sweep 
The  round  world  over  and  under. 

And  the  wide,  wild  seas  o'er-leap ; 
And  where  the  ranks  of  the  toilers  stand, 
They  wait  for  the  touch  of  hand  to  hand, 
And  the  song  that  their  hearts  can  understand, 

Calling  from  deep  to  deep. 

Then  turn  to  the  East,  ye  singers, 
And  chant  the  world's  new  rhyme! 

Bend,  bend,  ye  sturdy  ringers. 
Sounding  the  morning  chime. 

Till  faith  shall  conquer,  and  hope  make  bright 

The  secret  places  of  wrong  and  blight ; 

Come,  lead  the  chorus  of  love  and  light, 
Ye  prophets  of  God's  own  time ! 


11 


THE  OLD  AGE  TO  THE  NEW 

The  New  Age  comes  from  the  void,  wonder  and 
joy  in  her  eyes ; 
The  touch  of  her  captive  Hghtnings  has  fringed 
her  robe  with  flame ; 
The  song  on  her  hps  is  strange ;  it  is  not  plain  to 
the  wise, 
But  the  strong  of  soul  shall  heed,  and  swell  it 
with  deep  acclaim. 

The  Old  Age  stands  by  the  verge,  weary  she  is, 
yet  glad; 
Her   brows   are    weighted    with    laurels;    her 
hands  are  heavy  with  gold. 
"Now  hail  to  you  who  shall  share  all  hope  and 
gain  I  have  had, 
Who  comes  with   a  strength  untried,  with  a 
glory  yet  untold! 

*'Hail  to  you,  who  shall  reign  while  I  go  down 
to  my  rest! 
Lo   I   have   lived,   I   have   conquered,   I   have 
wrested  gifts  from  Fate! 
Queen  I  have  been  of  the  Ages,  strongest  and 
richest  and  best ; 
Thou  art  warden  of  all  —  see  that  thou  keep 
thy  state. 

''Vision  is  given  me  now  to  see  what  thou  may'st 
attain. 
To  know  the  glory  and  grace  that  lie  within 
thy  power ; 
But  if  thou  fail  or  win,  if  thy  portion  be  loss  or 
gain, 
That  is  hidden  from  me,  to  be  told  in  thy  trial 
hour. 

12 


"All  is  thine  for  the  striving,  —  love,  and  the 
reign  of  peace ; 
Great,    triumphant   toil,   and   crowns    for   the 
toiler's  brow ; 
Sin  and  greed  to  be  vanquished,  wrath  and  pain 
that  shall  cease ; 
Joy  of  a  quest  fulfilled,  of  a  vast  heroic  vow. 

"Yet  amid  all  thy  gain,  one  brave  thing  shalt 
thou  lose, 
When  the  last  of  the  fighting  men  shall  draw 
his  dying  breath  ; 
When  to  Manhood  comes  no  more  the  hour  in 
which  to  choose 
Whether  to  live  at  ease,  or  serve  a  cause  to 
the  death. 

"So  the  test  shall  be  thine,  to  see  that  the  peace 
be  true. 
To  watch  that  the  reign  of  law  be  pure  as 
the  reign  of  might; 
To  guard  lest  the  idol  of  gold  that's  set  on  high 
in  thy  view 
Be   the    god   that   thy   children   worship,   the 
shadow  to  dim  thy  light." 

The  New  Age  comes  from  the  void,  wonder  and 
joy  in  her  eyes  ; 
The  Old  Age  stands  by  the  verge,  in  her  pas- 
sion of  prophecy. 
"And  oh !  that  I  might  see  the  end  of  thy  strife !" 
she  cries ; 
"And  oh  !  that  I  might  know  if  my  soul's  desire 
shall  be!" 


13 


THE    NEW    MIRACLE 

I  have  sent  my  word  to  the  goal, 
Throiig^h  the  vSpaces  vast  and  bare, 
Through  leagues  of  the  pathless  air, 

Straight  to  yonr  listening  soul. 

The  void  is  my  willing  thrall, 
Knowing  no  bound  nor  bar ; 
I  stand  in  my  place  afar. 

And  fling-  you  the  voiceless  call. 


't5      J 


Whence  is  its  vivid  speed? 

What  is  the  path  it  knows? 

Silent  and  swift  it  goes, 
Where  the  waitinsf  wire  sfives  heed. 


to" 


From  the  living  touch  it  flees ; 

And  the  ships  no  longer  lie 

Lost  between  wave  and  sky  — 
They  whisper  from  soundless  seas. 

And  the  word  I  send  along. 

Through  the  spaces  bright  and  bare. 
Through  leagues  of  the  desert  air, 

Turns  to  a  spheric  song. 

TO-DAY 

Queen  of  the  flying  moments,  —  stern   lo-day! 
Our  lives  are  vibrant  to  thy  sceptre's  sway ; 
Unshaped  To-morrows  wait  upon  thy  breath, 
Thy  hand  lets  fall  the  seed  of  life  or  death ; 
And  ev'n  the  irrevocable  Yesterdays 
Shine  with  new  light  beneath  thy  searching  rays. 
—  Teach  me  obedience  to  thy  swift  control, 
And  smite  thy  meaning  through  my  brain  and 
soul. 

14 


A  HOPE  FAR  OFF 

Shall  not  my  soul  stand  facing  thine 

In  the  great  days  to  be, 
Drinking  its  faith  and  force  like  wine, 

Voicing  its  rhapsody? 
I  who  have  sung,  thou  who  has  wrought, 

Shall  we  not  feel  at  length 
Through  the   vast  changes   death  has  brought, 

Our  spirits'  dual  strength? 

Shall  not  the  friendship  we  have  known 

In  these  hot  fields  of  strife 
Be  yet  more  perfectly  our  own 

On  the  clear  heights  of  life? 
I,  who  have  felt  thy  larger  grasp. 

Thou,  who  hast  read  my  heart, — 
Our  hands  have  met  in  that  long  clasp 

Time  had  no  skill  to  part. 

Should  I  not  lose,  in  losing  thee, 

A  light  on  all  my  years, 
The  dearest  dreams  of  memory. 

The  source  of  smiles  and  tears? 
Then  must  I  keep  this  thought  of  grace. 

That  in  the  lands  unknown. 
Standing,  full-statured,  face  to  face, 

Our  souls  shall  claim  their  own. 


15 


THE  GIFTS  OF  LOVE 

My  love  would  have  me  brave  and  bright 
In  silks  and  gems  and  golden  rings ; 

And  I  must  laugh  with  gay  delight, 
When  some  rich  gift  he  brings. 

But  ah !    The  little  gifts  can  move 

My  heart  with  stronger,  tenderer  power 

And  I  must  weep  for  very  love 
When  he  but  brings  a  flower. 


THE   EYES   OF   LOVE 

Blind  souls,  who  say  that  Love  is  blind! 

He  only  sees  aright; 
His  only  are  the  eyes  that  find 

The  spirit's  inner  light. 

He  lifts,  while  others  grope  and  pry, 

His  gaze  serene  and  far; 
And  they  but  see  a  waste  of  sky 

Where  Love  can  see  the  star. 


16 


NOT  IN  THE  HAND  I  LOVE 

When  for  my  sin  Thou  chastenest  me,  O  Lord, 
And  man  must  be  Thine  instrument  of  woe, 
In  the  stern  hand  of  some  un vanquished  foe 

Place   Thou   the   power   to   smite   me,    and   the 
sword ! 

Not  in  the  hand  I  love,  oft  held  in  mine, 

For  joy  or  comfort,  through  the  changing  day ; 
Or  if  that  hand  must  wound  me,  let  it  slay ! 

That  from  its  lost  clasp  I  may  pass  to  Thine. 


THE  HERMES   OF   PRAXITELES 

This  Hermes  bears  an  aspect  too  divine 

For  Zeus'  light-heeled  and  trick-brained  mes- 
senger ; 
We  cannot  fancy  those  deep  curls  astir 
In  breezy  flight,  nor  those  calm  eyes  ashine 
With  scintillant  mirth  and  madness.     How  be- 
nign 
Those  straight  still  brows!     So  fair  a  messen- 
ger 
Was  princely  Gabriel,  as  he  bent  to  her 
Who  asked  him,  awe-struck,  ''Can  such  grace  be 
mine?" 

From  those  sweet  lips  what  golden  message  came, 

Forever  stilled !     The  Heavens  are  silent  now. 

Or  only  speak  in  wind  and  whispering  bough. 

Now    dwells    the    Word    within   no    rhythmic 
span 

Of  song  or  rune,  but  in  the  heart  of  man, 
Divinely  breathed,  it  kindles  like  a  flame! 


17 


LIFE  WITH  LOVE 

From  dark  to  dark  we  fly,        , 

From  outer  to  inner  portal ; 
But  Love  will  join  us,  winging  by, 

And  he  too  is  immortal. 

From  birth  to  death  we  go, 

Through  the  dark  doors —  ah,  whither? 
But  Love  's  before  us,  and  we  know 

He,  too,  is  flying  thither. 

Then  forward  without  fear! 

For  Love  leaves  light  behind  him  ; 
And  where  he  goes  is  best  of  cheer, 

For  Death  can  never  find  him ! 

HELPLESS  LOVE 

If  I  could  work  for  thee,  if  I  could  spend 
The  long,  long  days  in  labor  for  thy  sake, 
And  of  some  task  —  to  me  most  blessed !  — 
make 

A  link  with  thee,  toward  whom  my  wishes  tend ; 

If  with  my  very  life  I  could  defend 

Thy    tender    life    from    pain,  —  I    should    not 

grieve ! 
Vainly  I  long  of  my  sad  hours  to  weave 

A  web  in  whose  fair  texture  I  might  blend 

Gold  threads  of  good  for  thee.    But  time  goes 

by, 

And  I  sit  helpless,  —  bearing  all  the  strain 
Of  love's  great  strength,  held  down  as  with  a 
chain. 
And  nought  to  do  for  thee,  not  even  to  die ! 
Only  my  heart  seeks  Heaven  with  this  one  plea, 
That  of  my  pain  God  shape  some  good  for  thee ! 

18 


TO  ONE  YOUNG  AND  FAIR 

As  yon  dark  pine  tree,  sad  with  memory, 

Looks  down  upon  the  violet-blooms  that  start 
Low  at  its  feet,  and  hymns  with  loving-  art 

Their  gentle  grace,  in  old-world  minstrelsy ; 

So  I  look  down,  most  dear,  and  sing  of  thee, 
And  feel  thy  beauty  nestling  at  my  heart. 


A  CHOICE 

Those  who  have  fallen  let  others  seek, 
With  soothing  voice  and  lifting  hand, 

If  God  but  give  me  leave  to  speak 

One  word  of  cheer  to  those  who  stand. 

Let  others  with  their  love  enfold 

The  feebler  souls  that  cling  to  wrong; 

I  would  but  touch  with  steadying  hold 
The  bitter  burdens  of  the  strong. 

Great  patient  souls,  that  make  no  plaint. 
Till  death  reveals  the  weight  they  bore ! 

They  close  the  ranks  of  those  who  faint, 
And  take  their  toils  forevermore. 


19 


THE  AWAKENING 

Darkness  —  silence  —  scarce  a  breath : 

Love  is  lying  marble-still. 
Is  it  sleep,  or  is  it  death? 

Can  the  full  heart  pause  at  will  ? 
She  who  loves  sits  desolate, 

Whelmed  in  midnight  cold   and  deep ; 
While  her  very  pulses  wait. 

Asking,  Is  it  death  or  sleep? 

(Still  thee,  Soul!     Whate'er  it  be. 

Quell  the  passion  in  thy  breast. 
Questioned,  Love  must  rise  and  flee : 

Keep  thy  vigil;  let  him  rest. 
Stir  not,  while  he  slumbers  on. 

Till  he  sigh  and  softly  rise : 
Then  shalt  thou,  who  deemed  him  gone, 

Feel  his  kiss  upon  thine  eyes!) 

Darkness  !    But  her  gasping  breath 

Cuts  the  silence  like  a  cry ; 
She  will  know  if  this  be  death. 

Though  her  trembling  gladness  fly ! 
On  her  lamp's  rim  breaks  a  spark, 

Waxes  to  a  slender  flame ; 
And  her  white  face,  'gainst  the  dark. 

Shows,  a  mask  of  fear  and  shame. 

Slowly  moves  the  fiery  blot 

Over  flower-traced  wall  and  floor. 
(Wake  him  not,  —  ah,  wake  him  not! 

Love  awakened  dreams  no  more!) 
Slips  the  light,  at  her  command, 

O'er  the  fair  extended  form. 
O'er  the  listless,  curving  hand. 

O'er  the  pure  lips,  breathing  warm. 

20 


Is  it  sleep,  or  is  it  death? 

Ah,  she  knows !    The  white  hds  rise, 
Now  unveiHng,  in  a  breath, 

All  the  glory  of  his  eyes ! 
Love  upsprings  beneath  her  gaze, 

Fleeting,  flashing  through  the  night, 
Leaving  all  the  air  ablaze 

With  the  radiance  of  his  flight ! 

l' ENVOI 

Keep  thy  vigil,  doubting  Soul ; 

Still  thee,  till  Love's  sleep  be  o'er ; 
Wait  thy  doom  of  joy  or  dole: 

Love,  so  roused,  is  thine  no  more! 


ON    THE    RIVER    AT    NIGHT 

The  city  writes,  in  hieroglyphs  of  fire, 

The  story  of  her  life. 
Her  stress  of  toil,  her  passion  of  desire, 

Her  ecstasy  of  strife. 

Each  night,  on  either  margin  of  the  stream. 

Her  page  of  flame  unrolls  ; 
And  all  along  the  wave,  with  varied  gleam. 

She  draws  her  jewelled  scrolls. 

Her  soul's  appeal  is  flashed  upon  the  night. 

While,  writ  in  mightier  lines. 
With  clustered  stars,  in  characters  of  light, 

Some  calm,  great  answer  shines. 


21 


THE  KITTEN 

Small,  sinuous  thing,  sleek  shape  of  grace, 

Within  thy  drowsy  babyhood 
There  dwells  that  smouldering  spark  of  race 

Which  flames  forth  in  the  jungle  brood; 
In  thy  curled  softness  lies  asleep 
The  splendor  of  the  tiger's  leap. 

Thine  eyes  a  jewel-gleam  disclose, 
W^here  lurks  that  soul  of  fierce  desire 

That  through  the  tropic  midnight  glows 
In  two  bright  spheres  of  baleful  fire. 

So  Nature,  in  some  wayward  hour, 

Draws  in  small  lines  her  types  of  power. 

Thy  velvet  footfalls,  as  they  glide, 

Recall  the  beauty  and  the  dread 
Of  that  long,  crouching,  sinewy  stride. 

That  furtive,  fierce,  forth-reaching  head ; 
We  feel  that  deadly  presence  pass,  — 
The  dry,  slow  rustle  in  the  grass. 

Since  in  thy  lithe,  swift  gentleness 

Such  hints  of  power  and  blight  are  shown, 
What  kinship  must  the  soul  confess 

With  forces  mightier  than  her  own? 
What  beast,  what  angel,  shall  have  sway, 
When  we  have  reached  our  utmost  day  ? 


22 


THE   HUNTING-CALL   OF   SPRING 

Clear  wind  the  horns  of  Spring  again, 

( Hark,  forward  —  hark ! ) 
O'er  mellowing  hills  they  ring  again, 

Farewell  to  cold  and  dark! 
Up,  up!  and  brush  the  dews  away; 
The  sun  comes  laughing  through  the  gray. 
To  gild  the  flying  robes  of  May ; 

Hark,  forward  —  hark ! 

The  hordes  of  hope  are  out  again ; 

(Hark,  forward  —  hark!) 
Room  for  the  merry  rout  again, 

Whose  revels  chase  the  dark! 
Their  couriers  are  the  dancing  showers, 
And  through  the  song-awakened  hours 
The  bright  ranks  follow  —  flowers  on  flowers 

Flark,  forward  —  hark  ! 

Beside  the  hurrying  stream  again, 

( Hark,  forward  —  hark ! ) 
We'll  find  our  last  year's  dream  again. 

Where  pipes  the  meadow-lark. 
Come,  love  of  mine,  earth's  fairest  thing, 
With  eyes  that  shine  and  lips  that  sing. 
Haste  to  the  ringing  call  of  Spring ! 

Flark,  forward  —  hark  ! 


23 


NIGHT  SONG 

Come,  my  soul,  and  to  thy  fastness 

Flee  away ; 
Close  the  shadowy  doors  of  silence 

On  the  day. 

Come,  and  let  all  hope  and  passion 

Fall  to  rest; 
Let  the  sphinx  of  midnight  fold  thee 

To  her  breast: 

She  whose  ears  no  moan  nor  murmur 

Ever  reach, 
And  whose  lips  are  closed  to  question 

And  to  speech ; 

She  whose  eyes  are  as  the  brooding 

Lights  of  fate, 
And  whose  silence  to  thy  sorrow 

Answers  —  Wait ! 

Thou  shalt  learn  in  that  pure  stillness 

What  thou  art  — 
All  the  wonder  and  the  wisdom 

Of  thy  heart. 

Not  in  dreams,  for  they  are  shadows ; 

Not  in  sleep  — 
That  is  soulless :  but  in  vision 

Clear  and  deep ; 

In  the  rest  nor  pain  nor  longing 

Put  to  flight; 
In  the  sweet  and  cold  Nirvana 

Of  the  night. 

24 


Learn  the  power,  the  calm,  the  worship 

That  shall  be. 
Come,  my  soul!     For  in  the  darkness 

Thou  art  free. 


IN    A    HOSPITAL    WARD 

This  is  the  hallway  to  the  courts  of  Death, 

Where  mournful  crowds  besiege  his  inner  gate ; 

Here,  prone  in  piteous  rows,  they  rest  and  wait. 
And    measure    weary    hours    with    long-drawn 

breath. 
Ah,  house  where  none  for  pleasure  entereth ! 

Far  from  the  clamorous  cries  of  love  or  hate, 

Here  Pain  and  Patience  dwell  in  lonely  state, 
And  here  the  dumb  soul  learns  its  shibboleth, 
Password  to  unknown  regions.    Come,  my  heart, 

Steal  in,  and  watch  the  battle  fought  and  won ; 
Look  into  wistful  eyes,  where  no  tears  start; 

And  in  these  silent  victories,  praised  by  none, 
Mark  how  the  dauntless  spirit  plays  its  part. 

Though  the  spent  frame  be  vanquished  and  un- 
done! 


25 


AT   THE   CONCERT:     A   WAGNER 
NUMBER 

A  crash  of  the  drum  and  cymbals, 

A  long,  keen,  wailing  cry ; 
A  throb  as  of  wings  of  mighty  things. 

That  with  whirring  din  sweep  by. 

They  come,  with  their  thunder-chorus, 

Vast  shapes,  of  a  stronger  race ; 
An  alien  throng  from  some  star  of  song 

In   the  undiscovered   space. 

I  thrill  to  their  eager  calling, 

I  shrink  from  their  fierce  control ; 
They  have  pressed  and  pried  the  great  doors  wide 

That  were  closed  to  guard  my  soul. 

LOVE'S   REFUGE 

Love  fled  from  Death  on  a  summer's  day, 
Lightly  trod  over  fern  and  flower; 

"Ah,  Death,"  he  cried,  ''when  the  world  is  gay, 
Seek  me  not,  but  await  thine  hour ! 

1  am  welcome  wherever  I  go ; 

Gladness  follows  my  steps,"  said  he ; 

'Tor  love  hath  not  in  the  world  a  foe, 
But  thee  —  but  thee  !" 

Love  came  to  Death  on  a  winter's  night, 

Knocked  and  cried  at  the  cold,  closed  door; 

"Shelter  me,  Death,  from  storm  and  blight! 
Wilt  thou  forget  me  forevermore  ? 

Life  pursues  to  a  cruel  end; 
Refuge  only  is  here,"  said  he; 

"For  Love  hath  not  in  the  world  a  friend 
But  thee  — but  thee!" 


LOVE  IS  DEAD 

Love  is  dead,  they  say ; 

Where  is  he  laid  away? 

I  would  see  him,  stark  and  fair, 
Cut  a  lock  of  his  shining  hair, 

Kiss  his  lips,  however  cold,  — 
Poor  Love,  sweet  Love, 

Who  lived  not  to  grow  old. 

Love?    We  laid  him  here, 
On  a  flower-strewn  bier, 

Yet  he's  gone,  we  know  not  where. 

Lift  the  pall,  —  was  he  ever  there  ? 
When  his  soul  is  fled  away, 
His  form  will  never  stay. 


THE  SOUL'S  ENDURANCE 

The  marvel  is,  that  we  can  bear  our  part 

With   such   strange    courage,   and   endure    so 

much ; 
When  Sorrow  brands  us  with  her  fiery  touch, 

That  we  can  face  her  with  so  high  a  heart. 

That,   though   with   failing,   staggering   feet  we 
trace 
The  blank,  unmeasured  pathways  of  the  night, 
We   still  move   forward,  without  strength  or 
sight. 
Straight  to  some  fair  unknown  abiding-place. 

Oh,  dauntless  soul  of  man  !    How  vast  a  hope  — 
Renewed  forever  —  is  thy  rightful  dower ; 
How  fair  a  presage  of  delight  and  power, 

When  thy  life  broadens  to  its  destined  scope ! 

27 


THE  LION  CAGED 

For  hours,  with  furtive,  forceful  tread, 

He  paces  slow,  in  sad  disdain ; 
His  limbs  by  formless  lonoings  led 

That  thrill  their  giant  thews  like  pain. 

Or,  flinging  full  his  shaggy  length, 

Fronting  the  bars,  inert  he  lies; 
The  frenzies  of  his  captive  strength 

Flame  up,  and  darken,  in  his  eyes. 

What  moves  within  his  soul,  who  dwelt 

Between  the  naked  earth  and  sky. 
Who  with  his  strenuous  pulses  felt 

The  swinging  sphere  in  harmony? 

What  anguish  of  his  helpless  state 
Stills  his  vast  bulk  to  sullen  rest? 

Till  some  blind  impulse  —  fierce,  elate  — 

Strikes  like  a  sting  through  brain  and  breast! 

Some  arrowy  gleam  of  tropic  suns. 

That  quickened  once  his  splendid  might. 

Through  all  his  troubled  being  runs. 
And  floods  his  yellow  eyes  with  light. 

The  cold,  sweet  breath  of  forest  streams, 
Wind-blown  between  the  vengeful  bars ; 

The  lusts  of  spring ;  the  savage  dreams ; 
The  ranging  hunt  beneath  the  stars. 

Strange  living  memories,  dumbly  voiced. 
They  rend  him  as  he  lies  forlorn,   — 

The  strong  brute  spirit,  that  rejoiced 
In  unveiled  glories  of  the  morn ! 

28 


So  with  his  leap  the  prison  shakes ; 

And  as  his  mighty  head  he  rears, 
From  his  wild  bosom  hoarsely  breaks 

The  passion  of  his  wasted  years. 

Then,  slowly,  as  the  vision  dies. 

The  narrow  walls,  with  conquering  stress, 
Constrain  him  —  and  once  more  he  lies, 

Dull,  helpless,  stricken,  passionless! 

Yet  who  may  flout  him  ?    Still  he  shows 
A  shape  of  power,  as  he  were  free ; 

And  fear  still  guards  him  as  he  goes. 
And  crowns  his  ruined  majesty. 


29 


THE   CLOSING   YEAR 

Now  falters  to  its  end  a  wondrous  year, 

Crowned  with  strange  lights  of  glory  and  of 

woe. 
Splendors  of  memory,  and  prophetic  glow, 
And  all  that  makes  life  terrible  and  dear. 
The  flight  of  mighty  spirits  from  our  sphere 
Has  quickened  all  the  air.     With  what  stern 

bliss 
They  to  whom  death  could  never  come  amiss 
Went    forth,    and    left    their    rich    remembrance 

here ! 
Theirs  is  the  history  now  of  star  and  sun  ; 

Creation's  music  with  their  song  makes  rhyme : 
While  we,  who  feel  great  movements  scarce  be- 

Hear  the  deep  hours  struck  out  with   fateful 

chime ; 
Nor  rest  until  the  breathless  age  has  won 

The    hard-wrought    guerdons    of    tumultuous 

time. 


THE   VINDICATION 

Ye  wrong  the  toiling  Age,  all  ye  who  say 

That  Faith's  clear  cry  is  heard  no  more  on 
earth ; 

That  we  are  left  to  drug  the  soul  with  mirth, 
And  in  life's  low  fulfilments,  day  by  day, 
Close  out  our  weary  round.     They  tell  you  nay, 

Those  high  sweet  souls  that  weigh  not  their 
own  worth. 

But  trust  the  impulse  of  diviner  birth, 
And  move  straight  starward  by  some  secret  way. 

30 


Still  may  we  find  them,  saints  that  toil  and  sing, 
Strong  hearts,  that  bear  love's  burdens  through 
the  gloom ; 
And  they  to  whom  earth's  tenderest  laurels  cling, 

The  Nations'  martyrs,  glorious  in  their  doom. 
Who  welcomed  conquering  Death  as  king  greets 
king, 
And  made  a  royal  palace  of  the  tomb. 


A   NEW   FRIENDSHIP 

Thy  life  drew  near  to  mine,  all  unaware, 
Strange  as  the  coming  of  a  star  at  eve ; 
Ere  the  sky  darkens,  while  we  yet  believe 
There  is  no  star  in  sight,  — ^  lo !  it  is  there, 
A  breathing,  trembling  light  in  the  still  air, 
A  joy   new-made. 

So  when  I  met  with  thee, 
Dear   friend,   true   heart,   'twas   twilight  time 
with  me; 
Much  had  grown   dim   that  I  had  once   found 

fair, 
I  do  not  know  with  what  sweet  ray  of  grace 
Thy  life  first  touched  me,  shining  through  my 
tears, 
When  thy  soft  hand  came  stealing  to  its  place 

Within  my  own,  and  drew  me  back  from  fears. 
This  only  do  I  know,  —  that  in  thy  face 
I  found  a  new  light  for  my  coming  years. 


31 


TO   A  YOUNG   CHILD 

Not  for  that  all  obey  thee 

Art  thou  a  king,  clear  heart ; 
But  that  no  fears  waylay  thee 
Nor  earthly  laws  gainsay  thee,  — 
Lord  of  thy  soul  thou  art. 

World's  scorn  can  never  fright  thee, 

World's  sorrow  make  thee  pine ; 
Nor  dark  forebodings  blight  thee, 
Nor  mocking  hopes  invite  thee ; 
Life's  perfect  Now  is  thine. 

In  faith  serenely  nested, 

Thou  smil'st  when  others  weep ; 
W^hile  we,  by  cares  molested. 
With  heavy  hearts  unrested. 

Are  envious  of  thy  sleep ; 

Till,  when  the  dark  is  creeping 
O'er  life's  last  troubled  day. 
We  fall,  hke  thee,  to  sleeping, 
And  learn,  in  love's  great  keeping. 
Faith's  royal,  restful  way. 


32 


NOCTURNE 

How  cool,  how  spacious,  how  serene  the  night! 
How  the  great  transports  and  wide  destinies 
Of  that  unbounded  Hfe  to  which  we  tend 
Now   show   themselves    in   glimpses !      Piercing 

bright 
Those    quick    looks    of    the    stars    between    the 

boughs,  — 
Flashes  of  prophecy.     The  somber  trees 
Are  massed  in  denser  dark  against  the  void,  — 
Vast   spheres    of   shadow,    where    all   mysteries 

blend. 
With    subtle    movement    and    with    deep-drawn 

sighing. 

My  soul,  thou  sleeping  Titan,  prostrate  lying. 
Lulled  by  the  day,  —  now  stir  as  if  to  rise ; 
Push    back    the    hair    from    slumber-weighted 

brows. 
And  gaze  awhile,  with  bright  bewildered  eyes. 
Upon  thy  kindred  stars.     O  blinding  gleam ! 

0  quickening  breath   of   Night  that  clears   my 
dream ! 

Love,  in  a  prison-house  thou  boldest  me 
Of  narrow  longings  and  enthralling  woe. 
For  once  I'll  say :    Unbar,  and  let  me  go, 
To  breathe  a  larger  air !    This  hour  sets  free 
The  slave  of  light  and  time  —  but  yet  to-morrow 

1  would  steal  back  to  the  old  love  and  sorrow ! 


33 


A   GUARDIAN    SPIRIT 

The  years  affright  me,  love,  for  in  their  deeps 
May  hirk  an  ambushed  woe  —  the  loss  of  you ! 
Grief  cannot  wound  me,  while  your  guard  is 
true ; 
And  while  your  soul  keeps  watch,  dark  memory 

sleeps. 
But,  like  a  ghost,  along  my  pathway  creeps 
That  dream  of  evil  which  you  hold  at  bay. 
What  shall  befall  me,  should  you  slip  away 
From  my  life's  clasp  ?  —  The  sudden  terror  leaps 
Upon  my  heart,  as  some  wild  thing  alight. 
Whose  clutch  is  death !  —  Then  were  my  soul 
laid  bare 
To  all  the  sullen  hosts  of  storm  and  blight. 

But  while  I  shrink  from  that  unnamed  despair, 
Your  tender  presence  steals  upon  my  sight. 
With  blue  eyes  shining  througli  the  shadowed 
air. 


THE  NIGHT  FLOWER 

The  sun  hath  many  worshippers :  all  day 

What  fair  great  flowers  send  incense  to  his 

shrine, 
Forever  turning  toward  his  face  divine, 
And   drooping  straight  when  he  withdraws  his 

ray! 
What  delicate  morning  blooms  unfold  and  sway 
Upon  their  tender  stems  for  his  delight, 
But   shrinking   from   the   first   cold  touch   of 
night, 
Upon  their  soft  breasts  fold  their  dreams  away! 
So  many  lovers  hath  the  royal  sun : 
But  night,  the  sad,  fair  sibyl,  hath  but  one. 

34 


One  pure  and  wondrous  flower  is  fain  to  know 
The  lore  of  her  stern  lips  and  brooding  eyes, 

And,  stung  by  that  strange  passion,  opens  slow, 
Shines  in  white  fire  of  ecstasy,  and  dies. 

WITHOUT    INTENT 

This  is  a  truth,  though  it  be  strange  to  hear : 

One  mav  shed  light  upon  another's  way 

All  unaware.     Some  life-inspiring  ray 
May  shine  from  one  who  never  held  us  dear ; 
And  some  slight  hand  deliver  us  from  fear, 

Not  knowingly  stretched  toward  us.     What 
we  see, 

Or  feel,  or  dream  another's  hfe  to  be  — 
When  by  our  love  we  bring  its  influence  near  — 
Marks  on  the  soul  its  secret,  deep  impress.     ^ 

Hope  comes,  unrecognized,  and  scarce  desired. 
From  some  mere  touch  of  truth  or  tenderness. 

So,  without  knowledge,  heart  by  heart  is  fired ; 
And  yonder  laughing  child  does  more  to  bless 

Than  priest  or  prophet  consciously  inspired. 

NEW  YORK 

The  air  and  the  wave  enfold  her, 

River  and  sky  and  sea ; 
Cradled  in  light  they  hold  her, 

Circled  in  mystery. 
With  a  tender  touch  they  drape  her. 

At  morning  and  eventide. 
In  a  film  of  jewelled  vapor 

Fit  for  a  royal  bride. 

The  stars  of  the  night  have  crowned  her, 
In  pageant  full  o'erhead ; 
85 


And  far,  to  the  ver,o-e  around  her, 

Her  zone  of  light  is  spread. 
The  subject  seas  have  brought  her 

All  that  their  tides  control ; 
And  the  joy  of  the  breathing  water 

Quickens  her  inmost  soul. 

Where  is  her  peer  in  splendor? 

Whom  shall  she  own  as  lord? 
Richest  that  earth  can  render 

Down  at  her  feet  is  poured. 
Yet  can  no  glories  win  her 

To  deep  and  pure  repose, 
For  the  strong,  proud  heart  within  her 

Aches  with  a  thousand  woes. 

She  who  was  made  to  cherish 

Toiler  and  waif  and  slave, 
Weeps  that  her  children  perish. 

Spoiled  of  the  hope  she  gave. 
Mourns  for  her  freedom's  dower. 

Lost  in  the  strife  for  gold, 
While  the  sword  of  her  sovereign  power 

Drops  from  her  listless  hold. 

Yet,  as  the  tides  sweep  round  her, 

Her  mighty  pulses  thrill, 
And  the  chains  that  long  have  bound  her 

Shake  with  her  wakening  will. 
Slowly  the  links  are  broken ; 

Shall  not  she  bear  at  last 
Only  the  solemn  token 

Of  pain  and  thraldom  past? 

The  air  and  the  wave  enfold  her, 
River  and  sky  and  sea; 

36 


Lo!  in  a  dream  behold  her, 
Crowned  as  she  yet  may  be ! 

Still  is  she  freedom's  daughter, 
Noble  in  joy  or  dole; 

And  the  life  of  the  great  glad  water 
(3uickens  her  inmost  soul. 


THE   CITY 

Beside  the  shining  water,  serene  she  sits  in  state. 
Fronting  the  noonday  splendor,  keeping  the  New 

World's  gate ; 
Mother  of  hope  and  promise,  city  of  light  and 

dream. 
Smiling  in  beauty's  triumph,  changed  with  each 

changing  gleam ; 
Beside  the  shining  water,  she  draws  her  veil  of 

mist 
Over  her  flashing  jevv^els,  opal  and  amethyst. 

In  twilight's  purple  vapor,  in  morning's  rain  of 

gold. 
Forever   round    her    island   walls   the   glittering 

tides  are  rolled ; 
And  the  great   sea's  utmost   secret,   the   river's 

tenderer  song, 
Sound  through  her  mingled  voices  the  changeful 

year  along. 
Like   doves  to   her   bosom  flocking,  the   proud, 

swift  ships  come  home. 
Tracking  her  glassy  waters  with  arabesques  of 

foam; 
And  to  her  heart's  strong  throbbing  a  thousand 

hearts  keep  time, 
Where  far  across  the  bay's  clear  stretch  is  borne 

her  silver  chime. 

37 


Indrawn,  the  sullen  shadows  from  lapping  waters 

creep, 
Cold,  through  the  teeming  channels  where  her 

life's  stream  runs  deep; 
Indrawn,  her  breath  comes  faintly,  in  broken  sob 

and  moan, 
Slow,  through  her  up-toss'd  thunders  —  a  secret 

monotone 
Sounding  from  dark  recesses,  the  voice  of  want 

and  wrong. 
Till  her  mad,  sweet,  varied  music  seems  but  a 

siren  song; 
And  all  her  noonday  glories,  her  midnight  crown 

of  flame. 
Seem  but  the   false   regalia  of  anguish   and  of 

shame ; 
While  o'er  that  aching  tumult  she  draws  her  veil 

of  mist. 
With   the   mocking   gleam   of   jewels,   opal    and 

amethyst. 

Still  by  the  shining  water,  serene  she  sits  in  state. 
Fronting  the  noonday  splendor,  keeping  the  New 

World's  gate; 
And  still  her  sun-wrought  signals  flash  from  her 

lifted  spires, 
And  still  beneath  the  lights  of  heaven  she  burns 

her  midnight  fires. 
And  the  proud,  swift  ships  flock  homeward,  and 

hope-drawn  hearts  beat  time. 
As  far  across  the  bay's  clear  stretch  is  borne  her 

silver  chime. 


38 


THE   PLANTING  OF  A  TREE 

Arbor  Day  Song 

Would'st  thou  upbuild  a  home  where  sweet  wild 
lives  are  nested. 
Glad  with  the  sound  of  song,  quick  with  the 
flash  of  wings,  — 
Where  the  soft  broods  may  rock,  warm-housed 
and  unmolested, 
Deep    in    the    leafy    nooks,    through    all    the 
changeful  Springs  ? 

Or  would'st  thou  rear  an  arch  of  noblest  grace 
and  splendor, 
Lifted  in  air  and  light,  shaped  by  the  sun  and 
storm, 
Moved  by  the  wandering  wind,  swayed  by  each 
influence  tender. 
Yet  by  the  hand  of  life  moulded  to  steadfast 
form  ? 

Would'st  thou  make  day  more  fair,  and  night 
more  rich  and  holy. 
Winter  more  keenly  bright,  and  summer's  self 
more  dear,  — 
Grant  the  sweet  earth  a  gift,  deep  rooted,  ripen- 
ing slowly, 
Add  to  the  sum  of  joys  that  bless  the  rounded 
year? 

Go,  then,   and  plant  a  tree,  lovely  in   sun  and 
shadow, 
Gracious  in  every  kind  —  maple  and  oak  and 
pine. 

39 


Peace  of  the  forest  glade,  wealth  of  the  fruitful 
meadow, 
Blessings  of  dew  and  shade,  hereafter  shall  be 
thine ! 

For  though  thou  never  see  the  joy  thy  hand  hath 
granted, 
Those  who  shall  follow  thee  thy  generous  boon 
may  share. 
Thou  shalt  be  Nature's  child,  who  her  best  fruit 
hath  planted. 
And  each  of  many  a  spring-  shall  find  thy  gift 
more  fair. 


THE   JOY    OF   THE    HOUR 

I  crossed  on  the  windy  river. 

And  my  heart  was  cold  with  care ; 
My  life  seemed  mocked  by  the  laughing  day, 

Tost  on  the  wide  wild  air. 

But  the  sun  was  hot  on  the  river. 

The  small  waves  raced  and  flew ; 
And  the  gulls  beat  in  from  the  open  sea. 

And  sailed  abroad  in  the  blue. 

And  I  gave  myself  to  the  hour, 

To  its  sensuous  brave  delight. 
To  the  promise  voiced  by  the  swinging  wave, 

The  wind,  and  the  gray  gulls'  flight. 

And  I  was  not  mocked  by  the  river, 

Nor  scorned  by  the  light  and  air ; 
They  gave  me  their  life,  their  dream,  their  hope, 

Because  I  had  found  them  fair. 


40 


PRESS   SONG 

They  whir  and   clash,   through  the   nights   and 
days, 

The  magical  looms  of  thought ; 
And  in  and  out,  through  a  thousand  ways. 

The  flashing  threads  are  brought. 
Their  swift  purveyors  part  and  meet, 
On  rail  and  ship,  on  mart  and  street. 
With  tireless  brain,  with  hurrying  feet. 

As  the  endless  web  is  wrought. 

They  may  not  pause  when  the  sun  is  high, 

Nor  rest  when  the  light  is  low ; 
For  while  men  live,  and  act,  and  die, 

The  word  flies  to  and  fro. 
It  leaps  the  sea,  it  spans  the  plain ; 
On  throbbing  wire  and  mighty  chain. 
It  runs  like  fire  from  main  to  main. 

That  the  world  may  see  and  know. 

While  all  men  sleep,  they  whir  and  clash. 

The  terrible  looms  of  light; 
On  eyes  that  wake  shall  the  message  flash. 

From  far  beyond  the  night ; 
And  songs  in  the  under  world  begun 
Shall  touch  our  lips  ere  day  is  done; 
For  space  is  nought,  and  the  earth's  at  one. 

Linked  by  the  word's  swift  flight. 

Man  calls  to  m.an,  and  not  in  vain. 

The  cry  tO)  his  ear  is  brought ; 
All  love,  and  labor,  and  hope,  and  pain 

Into  each  soul  is  wrought. 
Work  on,  ye  presses,  at  Hfe's  behest, 
For  light  far  spread,  and  for  wrong  redressed: 
Till  time  is  ended,  ye  may  not  rest, 

Ye  marvelous  looms  of  thought! 
41 


THE    SOUL'S    FLIGHT 

Steaming  over  wild  seas,  rattling  over  rails, 
We  have  brought,  to  conquer  space,  power  that 

never  fails ; 
We  have  trapped  the  lightning,  harnessed  it  to 

Down  the  world  and  up  again,  hurtling  to  and 
fro. 

This  has  been  our  messenger;  this  shall  be  our 

steed ; 
We  have  set  the  rein  and  curb  on  its  fiery  speed ; 
Up  the  world  and  down  again,  roving  at  our  will, 
Yet  however  swift  we  go,  we  are  'prisoned  still ! 

Moving  mid  the  splendor  of  all  earthly  things. 
We  are  sick  for  heights  of  air,  we  are  mad  for 

wings ! 
Shall  the  lightning  bear  us  yet  to  the  very  door 
Where  the  storm  and  sullen  cloud  hold  its  force 

in  store  ? 

Land  and  sea  are  small  to  us;  wider  risk  we'd 

brave ; 
Up  the  winds  and  down  again  —  that  is  what  we 

crave ! 
Yet  the  earth  would  claim  again  all  our  vaunted 

powers ; 
What  were  lightning  wings  to  us,  since  they  are 

not  ours? 

Though  we've  stolen  magic  fires,  though  we've 

set  their  course. 
Yet  there's    something    stirring   us  —  a    wilder, 

deeper  force; 

42 


All  the  powers  that  we  have  known,  wind  and 

wire  and  steam. 
Fail  to  move  the  folded  wings  that  flutter  in  our 

dream. 

Till  the  hour  when  they  are  spread,  we  shall  sigh 

and  lack; 
Though  we  conquer  space  and  time,  earth  will 

draw  us  back; 
Though  we  run,  and  though  we  fly,  though  at 

last  we  fare 
Round  the  world  and  over  it,  through  the  circling 

air. 

We  have  come  from  spaces  vast,  where  the  day 

is  borUj 
Where  the  mighty  spheres  are  forged  in  the  fires 

of  morn; 
Thither  shall  we  flee  away,  as  a  darting  flame, 
Back  to  God,  and  home  again  —  home  to  whence 

we  came. 


43 


A     CHILD   MUSICIAN 

What  is  the  secret  of  thy  song, 

Oh  tender  Ariel  ? 
What  visions  to  thine  eyes  belong? 

What  tuneful  spirits  dwell 
In  the  pure  twilight  of  thy  soul, 
Owning  thy  slender  hand's  control? 

What  know'st  thou  that  we  cannot  know 

Who  only  hear  thy  dreams? 
When  quickening  winds  of  Springtide  blow 

Across  the  ruffled  streams, 
What  door  in  Heaven  is  opened,  whence 
Far  voices  greet  thy  finer  sense  ? 

W1iat  angel  taught  thee,  when  life's  ray 

Shone  faint  upon  thine  eyes, 
Strange  meanings  of  the  night  and  day, 

Of  shadow  and  sunrise. 
And  all  the  stress  man's  spirit  feels, 
In  loiiging  for  w^hat  God  reveals? 

Oh  wonder !  that  thy  childish  years, 

Sweet  deep-eyed  Ariel, 
Are  burdened  wath  the  dreams,  the  tears. 

The  joy  no  word  may  tell. 
The  pain,  the  passion  and  the  strife. 
That  mingle  in  our  song  of  life. 

Our  music  bears  our  manhood's  woe ; 

How  didst  thou  learn  the  strain? 
Or  dost  thou  only  dimly  know 

What  thy  strange  skill  makes  plain. 
And  blindly  trace  the  edge  of  night 
With  small  soft  fingers  tipped  with  light? 

44 


No  thought  thy  secret  may  surprise, 

Nor  read  thy  Hfc  aright; 
We  meet  thy  pure  un fathomed  eyes, 

Thy  smiles  of  deep  dehght, 
And  see  upon  thy  flower-Hke  face 
God's  seal  of  mystery  and  of  grace. 

As  tones  of  Ocean's  song  are  heard 

Within  the  fragile  shell, 
Thy  spirit  vibrates  to  God's  word, 

Oh  tender  Ariel ! 
His  whisper  in  thy  soul  hath  wrought 
A  faint,  fine  echo  of  His  thought. 


THE    GREATER   WAY 

Hast  thou  been  strong?    Thou  shalt  be  left 

Of  strength  bereft! 
Hast  thou  been  young,  and  glad  and  gay? 

Youth  flits  away ! 
Hast  thou  been  brave,  and  just,  and  kind? 

Then  to  thy  mind 
Shall  the  great  forces  bend  their  power, 
Making  all  life  thy  dower. 


45 


A  ROOM 

This  is  the  room :  the  void  bleak  space 
Where  set  the  star  of  her  sweet  face, 
Within  it,  Hfe's  persistent  cry 
Drops  to  the  echo  of  a  sigh ; 
Its  few  poor  treasures  shrink  and  pine 
Like  wreaths  on  some  forsaken  shrine ; 
And  on  its  melancholy  walls 
Coldly  the  morning  radiance  falls. 
Death's -shadow  drove  its  soul  of  light 
Far  upward,  beyond  dream  of  sight, 
And  left  it  here,  in  lonely  state,  — 
Bare,  silent,  dim,  disconsolate. 


46 


FANTASIA 

I 

Allegro 

Your  face  is  like  music ! 

I  fancy  a  song, 
On  a  clear  twilight  river, 
Between  the  dark  shores,  — 

Like  tones  in  a  dream  — 
Dropped  softly  along, 
Where  the  pure  lilies  quiver 

To  the  touch  of  the  oars; 
And  tenderly,  stilly, 

I  see  your  eyes  gleam,  — 
Stars  over  and  under. 

In  sky  and  in  stream. 
And  this  is  the  wonder  — 

Now  your  face  is  the  lily. 
And  now  'tis  the  song! 

II 

Andante 

Your  face  is  like  music.     Its  loveliness  calls 

To  my  heart  like  the  echo  of  melodies  rare. 
Like  the  sweep  of  a  cadence  the  pure  outline 
falls ; 
And  the  eyes   and  the  lips,  both  so  tenderly 
fair. 
And  the  cheek,  with  its  soft  mystic  pallor  and 

glow, 
Like    the    first    fairy    flushing    of    dawn    upon 
snow,  — 

47 


All  touch  me  like  clear  thronging  chords, 
But  none  puts  the  dear  song  in  words ; 
For  the  grace 
That  it  brings 
Is  the  grace  of  a  silence 
That  sings ! 
For  your  face 
Is  like  music. 


A  MAY   MAIDEN 

She  is  fashioned  quaintly, 

Very  small  and  fair ; 
Sunny  lights  shine  faintly 

Through  her  floating  hair. 
Light  her  form  and  slender, 

As  a  swallow's  wing, 
And  her  face  is  tender 

As  a  thought  of  Spring. 

Under  lashes  shady, 

Soft  her  eyes  and  bright ; 
She's  a  tiny  lady, 

Made  for  our  delight; 
If  she  says,  "I  love  you," 

All  your  heart  must  sing ; 
And  her  kisses  move  you. 

Like  the  touch  of  Spring. 


48 


THE  PINE  TREE 

Here  in  the  valley  town, 
Where  the  west  winds,  sweeping  down, 
Are  tamed  in  their  mighty  courses, 
Whirling,  with  scattered  forces; 
Here,  where  the  houses  stand, 

Each  in  its  garden  trim  — 

Where  the  sweet  familiar  blooms, 
Lilac  and  box  and  rose, 

Send  out  the  old  perfumes, 
May  after  May  — 
Here,  by  the  beaten  way, 

A  strong  old  pine-tree  grows. 
Child  of  a  barren  land. 

Sturdy  and  tall  and  grim, 
And  gaunt  of  limb. 
Summer  and  winter  and  spring, 

Through  all  their  varied  range. 
To  its  level  boughs  can  bring 

No  dream  of  change. 
And  I  hear  as  I  pass  along 
That  immemorial  song, 
Which  the  forests  chant  to  the  sea. 

From  great  crags,  lone  and  far, 
And  the  sea  cries  back  again, 
In  deep  antiphonal  strain 

Of  solemn  jubilee, 
Voicing  the  bygone  ages. 

And  the  ages  yet  to  be. 

In  slow,  strong  monotone, 

It  sounds  alone; 
The  hum  of  the  vibrant  wings 

Of  the  soul  of  things ; 
The  boom  of  the  distant  chime 
Of  greater  time ; 

49 


Strange  as  the  voice  that  dwells 
In  caves  that  the  tide  draws  under, 
Whose  awful  and  endless  thunder 

Is  echoed  in  tiniest  shells, 

With  far,  faint  sigh,  — 

Or  flung  from  the  gleaming  walls 

Of  giant  waterfalls,  — 
A  call  —  a  question  — 
A  ceaseless  cry. 

And  its  quiet,  tender,  unending,  slow  reply. 

O  priestly,  solemn  pine, 

Not  all  who  pass  can  hear 
That  wind-wrought  song  of  thine ! 

For  life  rings  loud  in  the  ear. 
And  the  air  is  thrilled  and  stirred 
With  flutter  of  leaf  and  bird. 
With  clamor  of  toilsome  day  — 
Now  mellow  and  far  away  — 
Now  swelling,  with  tramp  of  feet. 
In  the  village  street. 

But  I  keep,  as  my  steps  go  on  — 

Stilled  to  a  measured  calm  — 

The  sound  of  your  changeless  psalm. 
The  verse  and  the  antiphon. 
And  it  brings  the  sense  to  me 
Of  great  half-spheres  of  sea. 
And  stretches  of  boundless  air, 
To  my  flying  thought  spread  bare; 

And  of  forests  old. 
On  measureless  mountainsides. 
Where  wild  life  flits  and  hides. 

And  the  cosmic  hymn 
Is  murmured  in  deep  recesses, 

With  utterance  manifold. 

50 


But  the  word  is  one! 
Calling  from  forest  and  sea, 
Breathed  from  this  stern  old  tree, 
That  stands,  amid  crowding  blooms,  alone. 
It  is  worship  and  strength  to  me, 
It  is  deeper  than  mystery. 

For  the  message  is  "Patience  —  patience!' 
The  theme  is  Eternity. 


IN   QUIETNESS   AND   IN   CONFIDENCE 

How  slowly  fades  the  rose-light  in  the  west ! 

How  gently  moves  the  earth  to  meet  the  night, 
Entering  the  darkness  as  a  place  of  rest. 

And  taking  quiet  leave  of  day's  delight! 

Oh,  that  our  hearts  could  thus  relinquish  joy! 

Oh,  that  our  hours  of  darkness  thus  might  be 
As  tranquil  shades,  that  veil  but  not  destroy 

The  deathless  Daylight  of  Eternity! 

Lord !  give  us  grace  that  we  may  so  enthrall 
Our  heart's  desires,  that,   through  the  night 
and  day. 

We  thus  move  forward  at  Thy  loving  call  — 
Swift  without  haste,  and  calm  without  delay! 


51 


ON  THE  RIVER:    AN  IMPRESSION 

A  river  of  silver  and  azure, 

With  gliding  ships  afloat; 
On  the  farther  shore  a  city, 

Golden,  serene,  remote; 
With  one  fair  dome  up-rising. 

Dim  through  the  tender  mist. 
Like  a  stately,  pearl-built  palace. 

With  tracings  of  amethyst. 
A  boat,  with  proud  sails  swelling; 

Swift  as  a  dream,  she  slips 
Through  vistas  of  liquid  glory, 

Between  the  larger  ships; 
And  whither  else  is  she  headed. 

And  whither  could  she  fare. 
But  straight  to  the  mystical  palace. 

To  the  foot  of  its  shining  stair? 

Whatever  the  crew  that  boards  her, 

Or  the  freight  she  bears  away. 
She  was  set  afloat  as  a  pleasure-boat. 

To  carry  my  soul  to-day ! 
For  me  are  her  blue  sails  spreading, 

For  me  was  she  launched  and  manned ; 
Though  I  journey  away  from  the  river. 

Through  the  slowly  darkening  land. 
She  never  will  reach  the  palace. 

Her  sails  will  never  be  furled ; 
She  will  always  lie  'neath  a  reddening  sky, 

On  the  verge  of  a  wonder-world ; 
And  the  palace  shall  vanish  never ; 

And  the  low  sun  shall  not  fail 
To  light  forever  the  silver  river. 

The  dome,  the  sky,  the  sail. 


52 


A  CHORISTER 

My  tall  white  lily,  with  uplifted  face 
Set  in  a  carved  nook  of  the  holy  place, 
From     stillness     and     dim     glories     gathering 
grace, — 

What   thoughts   of   Heav'n   wait   on   thy   gentle 

guise, 
The  tender  mystery  of  thy  musing  eyes. 
Thine  unimpassioned  lips,  shaped  angel-wise? 

From  thy  clear-tinted  face,  serenely  fair, 

A  tranquil  influence  mingles  with  my  prayer, 

Subtly  as  breath  of  incense  on  the  air. 

No  cares  of  earth  can  touch  thee,  till  God  please ; 
He  keeps  thee  as  He  keeps  His  flowers  and  trees, 
Rooted  in  calm,  and  sphered  in  golden  ease. 

And,  as  a  bird  breaks  from  the  leafy  height. 
Thy  winged  voice  uprises,  clear  and  light, 
Just  stirring  thy  pure  stillness  with  its  flight. 

Mere  human  childhood  though  thy  life  may  be, 
Here  in  God's  place  and  time,  thou  art  to  me 
His  symbol-flower  of  peace  and  purity. 

For  He  Who  stood  once  in  a  grassy  space. 
And  marked  the  lilies  growing  in  their  place, 
Sends  us  anew  their  message  in  thy  face. 

Thy  calm  white  beauty  was  not  given  in  vain ; 
So    may    He    guard    thee  —  not    from    love    or 

pain  — 
But  from  all  earthly  dreams  that  leave  a  stain. 


53 


A  DISCIPLE 

Within  the  Hlllc  space  of  two  bUie  eyes, 

My  soul,  long  gazing,  can  see  more  of  heaven 

Than  when,  on  days  of  storm,  a  cloud  is  riven 

Far  up  the  zenith,  showing,  as  it  flies. 

Pure  glimpses  of  unfathomable  skies. 

—  What  can  /  teach  thee,  looking  up  to  me, 

Dear,  in  thine  angel-guarded  purity, 

And  that  great  innocence  that  makes  thee  wise? 

If  thou  could'st  know  the  truth  —  meek  as  thou 

art  — 
My  very  soul  is  lying  at  thy  feet, 
Searched  to  its  troubled  depths  by  rays  that  dart 
From  those  clear  eyes,  so  dreadful,  yet  so  sweet ! 
Oh,  teach  thou  me,  that  so  my  darkened  heart 
May  worthier  grow  thy  gaze,  and  God's,  to  meet. 

A  CHILD  I  KNEW 

There  was  a  face  as  lovely  to  the  sight 
As  some  wild  vision  on  the  wave  afloat, 

Some  water  fairy  smiling  to  the  light 
Close  by  the  shadow  of  a  drifting  boat. 

The  eyes  —  pure  spirit,  colored  by  the  sky  ; 
The  lips  made  sweet  to  drop  light  kisses  on : 

That  was  a  child  I  knew.    But  years  went  by, 
And  he  is  gone! 

There  was  a  hand,  so  small,  so  slim,  so  warm  — 
No  clasp  so  loving  ever  folded  mine ; 

A  quick,  brown,  bird-like  head ;  a  slender  form ; 
A  child's  fine  heart-beats,  with  a  love  as  fine. 

Alas !  in  manhood  souls  may  be  defiled. 
And  love  may  falter  as  the  years  go  on. 

It  was  not  Death,  but  Life,  that  took  the  child, 
And  he  is  gone ! 

54 


ON  THE  PLAINS 

World-wide  space,  and  the  sky  above ; 

Open  li.e^ht,  that  no  shadow  mars ; 

Earth  is  a  star  with  the  other  stars, 
And  heaven  is  near  enough  to  love. 

Waves  of  green  on  an  endless  sea ; 

Streaks  of  bloom,  that  are  tossed  like  foam ; 

The  sun  and  the  wind  are  here  at  home, 
And  here  the  cloud  and  the  storm  go  free. 

Royal  night,  and  the  veil  withdrawn. 
Blinding  glitter  of  starry  spears ; 
Changing  glory  of  days  and  years, 

Perfect  splendor  of  dusk  and  dawn. 

Eartlfs  clear  breast,  and  the  sky  above ; 

World-wide  spaces,  and  full,  free  breath ; 

Here  life  looks  in  the  eyes  of  death, 
And  God  is  near,  for  the  soul  to  love. 


*TO  WHOM  SHALL  WE  GO?" 

One  Hand  alone,  outstretched,  unfaltering, 
Can  reach  us,  where  our  broken  lives  were  tost ; 

Ye,  who  stand  safe,  may  scorn  us  as  we  cling; 
But  oh;  the  Hand  is  warm,  —  and  we  were 
lost! 


55 


A  SONG  OF  KINDRED 

Hark !  how  the  strong  seas  shout 

To  the  pines  on  the  mountainside : 
"Sing,  brothers,  sing!  for  the  winds  are  out, 

And  the  path  of  their  flight  is  wide ! 

We  leap,  at  flood  of  the  tide, 

To  the  base  of  your  rooted  rock. 
Feel  you  the  thrill  as  the  deep  caves  fill  ? 
Hear  you  the  breakers'  shock? 
Hail,  brothers,  hail! 
Send  your  song  on  the  western  gale. 

Loud  is  the  wind  in  every  tree. 
But  you  alone  can  voice  the  tone 

Of  the  full-throated  sea. 
From  you  alone  can  our  echoes  ring; 
Sing,  brothers,  sing!" 

Hark !  how  the  great  pines  cry 

From  the  inland  forest  places. 
Sending  the  mountain-land's  reply 
Out  to  the  wild  sea-spaces. 
Where  the  mad  wave  swells  and  races 
Under  the  tide-wind's  hand. 
"Hail,  all  hail !    We  swing  to  the  gale. 
And  shrill  to  your  brave  command. 
Rock,  rock,  and  chime! 
Back  we  fling  your  iterant  rhyme, 
In  a  rush  of  harmony ! 
Loud  is  the  wind  in  every  tree. 
But  we  alone  can  harp  the  tone 

Of  the  deep-breasted  sea. 
From  us  alone  can  your  echoes  fall! 
Call,  brothers,  call!" 


56 


LAZARUS 

To  what  fair-ordered  kingdom  hadst  thou  sped? 
Thou  pure,  great  spirit  of  the  righteous  dead! 
Through   what   vast    shadowy   vista   didst  thou 

trace 
The  archways  of  that  radiant  dweUing-place  ? 
From  what  star-centre  came  the  full-orbed  light 
That  flamed  at  length,  unshadowed,  on  thy  sight  ? 
And  when  that  Kingly  summons  sounded  clear, 
Through  what  rare  ether  did  it  find  thine  ear  ? 
\\'hat  guide  hadst  thou  in  that  amazed  flight 
Thus  swiftly  circling  backward  toward  the  night? 
With  what  strange  pang  did  thine  enfranchised 

soul 
Renounce  the  glories  of  its  late-won  goal. 
And  stoop  once  more  beneath  the  doors  of  doom, 
Back,    through    the    clinging    thraldom    of    the 

tomb. 
Back  to  the  sordid  day,  the  toil,  the  tears, 
The  unwept  sorrows  of  long  human  years? 
Who  reads  thy  riddle,  since  thy  speech  is  sealed  ? 
No  soul  may  guess  what  thine  leaves  unrevealed. 
Yet  can  I  dream  of  looking  in  those  eyes  — 
In  whose  clear  depth  life's  utmost  mystery  lies, 
And,  for  one  answer  only  pleading  sore : 
"What  is  death's  guerdon  ?     Tell  me  this  —  no 

more. 
And  having  knov/n  what  to  thy  soul  was  best. 
How  canst  thou  live,  and  wait,  in  perfect  rest?" 
I  hear  thee  say,  'Tn  all  that  realm  of  space 
I  found  no  other  glory  than  His  Face, 
Nor  can  I  lose  that  light  in  any  sphere ; 
Flis  was  the  summons  —  and  He  met  me  here !" 


57 


OUT  AT  SEA 

Unnumbered  waves,  and  unshadowed  light! 

Limitless  glory,  that  fades  to  sight 

With  the  dusk,  and  the  star-inspired  night ! 

Through  circles  of  light  and  dark  she  slips, 
Under  the  arch-ways  of  dawn  she  dips, 
The  one  most  precious  of  all  the  ships. 

Whelmed  in  azure,  'twixt  gulf  and  space, 
She  holds  in  her  narrow  housing-place 
A  little  world,  with  its  life  and  grace; 

A  pearl  held  loosely  in  God's  strong  hand, 
A  sphere  whose  course  is  at  His  command. 
Alone  with  Him,  till  she  find  the  land. 

My  soul  is  drawn  in  her  gleaming  trail ; 
With  her  I  harbor  —  with  her  I  fail. 
Oh,  ship  most  precious  of  all  that  sail ! 

I  know  no  life,  and  I  find  no  light. 

Save  in  the  track  of  her  wave-bound  flight. 

—  I  feel  her  strain  to  the  winds  at  night ! 

For  there,  in  her  narrow  housing-place 
Is  held  awhile  between  gulf  and  space 
The  One  whose  soul  is  my  star  of  grace. 


58 


THE  CHILDREN 

They  take  my  very  heart  —  I  know  not  how  — 
So  shyly  Hfting  up  their  deep  sweet  eyes, 
Pure  as  the  morning  star  in  virgin  skies, 

'Neath  the  soft  hair  and  white  unshadowed  brow. 

I  would  not  that  the  darkness  of  the  world 
Should  cloud  those  tender  lights.    I  would  in- 
stead 
That  mine  own  eyes  should  weep,  and  o'er  my 
head 
The  wings  of  storm  and  sorrow  be  unfurled. 

I  fain  would  stand  before  each  little  breast, 
A  loving  shield  —  but  since  this  may  not  be, 
I  long  instead  that  they  should  turn  to  me. 
As  birds  that  flutter  gladly  to  the  nest. 
After  the  first  weak  flight ;  sure,  ever  sure, 
To  find  the  mother-heart,  and  rest  secure ! 


OCTOBER 

Came  a  wild  queen  up  the  glens,  whence  the  sum- 
mer had  fled  — 
Beautiful,  wonder-eyed,  strong-hearted,  glow- 
ing October ! 
Brightly  with  colors  of  flame  was  her  vesture  be- 
spread ; 
All  the  rich  spoils  of  the  year  had  been  gather- 
ed to  robe  her. 

Life  in  her  cheek  flushed  and  throbbed,  burning 
fitfully  clear. 
Life  in  her  eyes  lit  their  depths  with  a  passion- 
ate splendor ; 

59 


Forth  she  came  singing,  with  voice  full  of  mysti- 
cal cheer, 
Forth  she  came  singing  a  bride-song,  exultant 
and  tender. 

Lustrous  October   (I  said),  if  thou  com'st  as  a 
bride, 
Yet  if  thou  com'st  as  a  queen,  sure  thy  bride- 
groom is  royal ! 
**Great   is   the   monarch,"   she   said,   ''who   shall 
stand  at  my  side. 
None  is  so  fair  in  mine  eyes  —  none  so  stead- 
fast and  loyal." 

Who  is  thy  king  and  thy  bridegroom,  fair  queen 
of  the  Year? 
Beautiful,  wonder-eyed,  strong-hearted,  golden 
October ! 
"Death  is  my  bridegroom !"  she  said,  "and  his 
bride  is  so  dear. 
All  the  rich  spoils  of  the  summer  are  gathered 
to  robe  her. 

"Death  is  my  bridegroom,"   she  said,   ''and  his 
grace  shall  be  mine. 
See'st  thou  my  vesture  of  flame  ?    It  is  donned 
for  his  glory ; 
Gentle  the  touch  of  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  are 
divine ! 
Only  his  nearest  can  list  to  his  marvelous  story. 

"Forth  he  will  lead  me,  to  lands  beyond  shadow 
and  strife  ; 
Bright  are  the  halls  of  his  palace,  though  dark 
be  its  portal. 
There  he  is  known  not  as  Death  —  but  his  name 
is  called  Life! 
Life  shall  be  mine,  and  through  me  is  the  Year 
made  immortal." 

GO 


THE  SOiNG  OF  MARGARET 

Noblest  of  maidens,  Margaret, 
Outside  Love's  garden  lingereth ; 
"My  time,"  she  sigheth,  "is  not  yet,  — 
My  time  for  either  love  or  death : 

'Twixt  star  and  star  my  sphere  is  set; 
The  light  from  each  is  faint,"  she  saith. 

"Here  in  Love's  garden  on  my  left, 

All  wealth  of  fruit  and  flower  is  seen, 
The  amber  peach,  with  ripeness  cleft. 

The  blue  grape  and  the  nectarine. 
The  white  rose,  of  her  love  bereft. 

The  dark-red  rose  that  plays  the  queen. 

"While  on  my  right,  past  wood  and  lea. 

The  pale  horizon  dimly  glows : 
Its  light  upon  the  silver  sea 

A  soul  of  color  doth  disclose, 
As  if  its  subtle  flame  might  be 

The  fire  that  kindles  in  the  rose." 

The  noble  maiden,  Margaret, 

Walks  in  white  garments,  like  a  bride ; 
On  barren  ways  her  steps  are  set, 

Sweet  mysteries  dwell  on  either  side ; 
Fair  are  the  garden-glooms,  and  yet 

Her  eyes  o'erlook  the  distance  wide. 

Which  way  at  last  her  course  shall  tend, 
Fain  would  she  know  ere  day  is  old. 

The  garden-paths  have  many  a  bend. 
White  robes  are  soiled  by  wet  brown  mold, 

And  where  those  shadowy  windings  end, 
That  is  a  secret  still  untold ! 

61 


Out  on  the  far  horizon's  rim 

There  dwells  a  light  that  never  dies ; 

Faint  sounds,  as  from  an  angel's  hymn, 
In  soft  strange  echoings  fall  and  rise. 

The  path  between  is  wild  and  dim, 
But  leads  it  not  to  Paradise? 

Noblest  of  maidens,  Margaret, 
Still  lingereth  on  the  barren  way: 

'My  time,"  she  sigheth,  *'is  not  yet! 
The  larger  lot,  the  more  delay. 

'Twixt  star  and  star  my  sphere  is  set,  — 
Ah !  which  shall  be  my  Star  of  Day  ?" 


LET    ME    CRY    HOPE 

Let  me  cry  Hope,  though  I  myself  despair! 

Soul,  if  for  thee  the  deep  abysses  yawn. 
Hold  thou  thy  torch  above  the  darkness  there. 

That  souls  far  off  may  hail  it  as  the  dawn ; 

Since,  though  the  light  may  cheat  their  craving 
eyes. 
For  one  dear  hour  'twill  make  their  pathway  fair ; 

And,  ere  it  sink,  for  them  the  Sun  may  rise. 
Let  me  cry  Hope,  though  I  myself  despair ! 


G2 


PORTRAIT  OF  A  CHILD 

His  little  face  is  so  pure,  so  fine,  — 

Fine  as  a  cameo,  pale  and  quaint 
As  an  elf  of  the  wood ;  the  slender  line 

Of  the  eyebrow  but  slightly  arched,  and  faint; 
But  the  blue  eyes  under  — 
A  shining  wonder !  — 
Clear  as  a  still  lake,  deeps  on  deeps, 

Holding  the  sunlight,  they  gleam  upon  you ; 
The  soul  beneath  them  never  sleeps; 

It  smiles  from  the  blue,  and  lo !  it  has  won  you. 

The  face  is  slight,  and  shaped  like  a  heart ; 

It  hints  of  song,  like  a  violin  ; 
Sloping  in  delicate  lines,  that  start 

From  the  broad  clear  brow  to  the  tiny  chin. 
Formed  for  gladness,  — 
Yet  touched  with  sadness,  — 
Oh,  dear  child- face !  where  the  shadow  sleeps 

(The  shade  of  a  shadow,  that  comes  and  goes) 

Down  the  tender  cheek,  with  its  paling  rose, 
To  the  full  pure  curve  of  the  perfect  lips. 

Not  the  face  of  an  angel,  this,  — 

But  the  face  of  a  human  child,  made  sweet 
To  hold  between  loving  hands,  and  kiss ; 
A  wistful  face,  that  your  eyes  should  greet 
With  looks  as  tender 
As  love  can  render 
To  all  that  love  in  the  world  holds  best ; 
A  face  for  grieving,  for  wonder  and  hope. 
Through  whose  strange  clearness  the  soul  hath 
scope 
To  shine,  in  its  spotless  childhood  blest. 


63 


1/ 


CHILD-LIFE  PASSES  AWAY 

As  the  delicate  opened  flower, 
As  love's  most   ideal  hour. 
As  the  first  pure  flush  of  the  day  — 
Child-life  passes  away. 

Do  we  ever  dream  of  this  — 

\Miat  love,  what  beauty  and  bliss, 

\\'hat  tender  glory  —  are  flown. 

When  we  say,  "The  children  are  grown? 

That  exquisite  fleeting  hint 
Of  the  Perfect  in  form  and  tint,  — 
The  rose  leaf  cheek,  and  the  eyes 
That  look  on  us  angel-wise ; 

The  flower-shaped  faces  dear. 
Tender  and  bright  and  clear : 
The  warm  pure  lips  :  and  the  hair. 
So  softly-ringed  and  fair : 

The  nestling,  clinging  form. 
Slim  and  throbbing  and  warm : 
The  dash  and  power  of  the  boy  — 
The  sweetness,  the  wonder  and  joy. 

\\'e  love  them  to-day  and  to-night. 
But  they  slowly  change  in  our  sight ; 
And  we  know  on  some  darker  day, 
Child  beauty  will  pass  away. 

The  wave  of  loveliness  grows. 
And  swells,  and  passes.  —  and  flows 
Away  into  some  new  range 
Of  rise  and  falling  and  change. 

64 


Yet  beauty  that  changes  and  flows 
Still  lives  in  the  soul,  and  grows ; 
The  touch  may  be  fairy-fine. 
But  the  impress  left  is  divine. 


BEFORE  THE  DAWN 

Just  before  the  dawn  the  leaves  begin  to  stir.  — 
Just  before  the  dawn,  —  with  a  soft  and  wist- 
ful sound ; 
The   shrill   small   things   with   wiry   wings   have 
ceased  their  restless  whir. 
The  voices  of  night  are  hushed,  and  the  still- 
ness closes  round. 

Just  before  the  dawn  there's  a  tremble  in  the  air ; 
The  silence  still  is  deep,  but  it  seems  to  pause 
and  hark ; 
The  earth  is  sighing  in  her  sleep  (be  her  dreams 
sad  or  fair?). 
And  a  creeping  wind  that  feels  its  way  goes 
rustling  through  the  dark. 

Just   before   the   dawn   I   am   waking   from   my 
sleep. 
The  hush  is  on  my  soul,  and  it  resteth  without 
thought ; 
Or    perchance    in    one    great    Thought    it    lies 
whelmed,  as  in  the  deep, 
And  waits  in  an  awful  calm  till  the  wonder 
of  Day  be  wrought. 

O'er  the  dim  half-globe  stcaleth   a  wan  white 
light ; 
Strange  as  the  smile  of  the  dead,  it  groweth 
unaware ; 

G5 


And,  touched  by  a  dream  that  hovers  between 
the  day  and  night, 
All   things   wake   and   whisper;   life  breathes 
low  in  the  air. 

All  things  wake  and  whisper,  still  with  a  sense  of 
doubt ; 
Light   leaves    tremble    with    hope;    here    and 
there  twitters  a  bird: 
Soon  will  the  moment  come  when  the  flush  of 
the  east  breaks  out. 
When  the  wide  world  laughs  and  arises,  and 
the  chorus  of  song  is  heard! 

I,  too,  wait  for  the  morn,  lying  watchful  and  still ; 
But  the  calm  of  my  soul  is  shattered  in  frag- 
ments of  thought  and  dream; 
Just  as,  a  moment  later,  when  the  sun  looks  over 
the  hill. 
The  clear  white  light  will  be  broken  in  shadow 
and  golden  gleam. 

But  later,  and  later  still,  when  broad  bright  day 
is  here, 
And  all  life's  voices  sound,  my  soul  will  still 
be  dumb; 
My  soul  will  still  be  waiting,  in  wonder  and  hope 
and  fear,  — 
For  her  light  is  the  light  of  dawn,  and  her  Day 
is  yet  to  come. 


nil 


CHICAGO  — IN  1893 

IN   PREPARATION   FOR  THE  COLUMBIAN 
EXPOSITION 

The  blue  lake  ripples  to  her  feet, 

The  wind  is  in  her  hair ; 
She  stands,  a  maiden  wild  and  sweet. 

With  sinewy  form  and  fair. 

No  stress  of  age  her  hope  restrains, 

Nor  checks  its  high  emprise; 
The  blood  of  youth  is  in  her  veins, 

Youth's  challenge  in  her  eyes. 

She  seized,  with  movement  swift  as  light. 

The  hour's  most  precious  spoil ; 
Now,  glowing  with  her  promise  bright, 

Her  strength  makes  joy  of  toil. 

With  dextrous  hand,  with  dauntless  will. 

Her  pearl-white  towers  she  rears. 
The  memory  of  whose  grace  shall  thrill 

The  illimitable  years. 

O'er  leagues  of  waste,  in  sun  and  storm. 
Their  proud  pure  domes  shall  gleam. 

The  substance,  wrought  in  noblest  form, 
Or  Art's  imperial  dream. 

Here  shall   she   stand,   the   Old  World's  bride, 

Crowned  with  the  Age's  dower; 
Toward  her  shall  set  the  abounding  tide 

Of  life's  full  pomp  and  power. 

67 


She  hears  the  nations'  coming  tread, 

The  rushing  of  the  ships, 
And  waits,  with  queenly  hands  outspread. 

And  welcome  on  her  lips. 

The  races,  'neath  her  generous  sway. 
Shall  spread  their  splendid  mart; 

And  here,  for  one  brief  perfect  day. 
Shall  beat  the  world's  great  heart. 


68 


IN  DEAR  BOHEMIA 
(World's  Fair,  September,   1893.) 

This  is  dear  Bohemia's  best, — 
At  the  Fair  in  sunny  weather, 

Meeting  throngs  from  East  and  West 
Stream  through  pleasant  ways  together ! 

All  the  glorious  doorways  frame 
Eager,  wondering,  happy  faces; 

Care  forgets  her  very  name ; 
Pride  forgets  her  idle  graces. 

Gray  old  Earth  renews  her  youth, 
Dancing  forth  to  pipe  and  tabor ; 

Every  word  seems  gracious  truth, 
Every  man  a  kindly  neighbor. 

Never  sunshine  fell  like  this, 

Gleaming  through  the  carven  spaces; 

Never  hearts  were  tuned  to  bliss 
In  such  fair  idyllic  places; 

Never  water  shone  so  blue. 

Glassing  dreams  of  towered  splendor; 
Never  bells  so  clear  and  true 

Filled  the   air  with   chiming  tender. 

Room  for  all,  and  joy  for  each,  — 
This  is  dear  Bohemia's  pleasure. 

Here's  the  school  where  nations  teach. 
And  the  World  gives  forth  her  treasure. 

Shaking  out  with  reckless  hand 
All  the  plenteous  wealth  of  ages, 

And,  at  Art's  divine  command, 
Opening  Beauty's  precious  pages. 

69 


Darling  city  of  delight, 

Proud  Columbia's  fairy  daughter! 
Thou  must  vanish  from  our  sight, 

Like  a  mirasre  of  the  water ; 


■^t)' 


But  thy  gladness  shall  be  ours, 
To  inspire  our  life's  endeavor, 

And  the  gleam  of  thy  white  towers 
Light  our  happiest  dreams  forever. 


70 


CHICAGO   AT  REST  — 1894 

Fair  Genius  of  the  Lake,  sit  thou  and  rest ; 

Thy   brow    still   crowned,    thy   glorious   limbs 

supine, 
While    yet    thine    eyes    with    musing    rapture 
shine, 
And  the  deep  breaths  of  triumph  swell  thy  breast. 

Look  out  upon  the  wave ;  thy  work  is  done ! 
The  mighty  nations  summoned  at  thy  call 
Clasp  hands  and  part;  thy  glittering  pageants 
fall; 

This  was  thy  golden  hour :  its  sands  have  run. 

Yet  shall  the  glory  of  that  hour  be  thine 

While  the  world  stands:  for  this  —  that  thou 

hast  cared 
First  for  supremest  beauty,  and  hast  dared 

Transform  earth's  labor  with  its  ray  divine. 

Now  peace  be  with  thee,  who  hast  wrought  so 
well! 
And  from  far  east  and  west  this  hope  shall  be 
Sent  for  thy  future  blessing :    That  on  thee 

God's  smile  of  beauty  may  forever  dwell ! 


71 


IN  A  CORN-FIELD 

The  corn  has  so  much  to  say ! 

It  tells  with  a  gay  delight 
The  gossip  of  golden  day, 

The  dream  of  the  tender  night. 
The  sunny  slopes  run  sweet 

To  the  edge  of  the  woodland  shadows, 
Where  the  idle,  laughing  streams  repeat 

The  talk  of  the  happy  meadows. 

But  the  trees  that  lean  above 

Have  deeper  thoughts  to  measure; 
They  whisper  of  home  and  love. 

And  hold  their  own  life's  treasure ; 
They  breathe  in  the  sun-filled  space; 

Rooted  in  calm  they  stand. 
Granting  the  birds  a  nesting-place, 

Blessing  the  quiet  land. 

And  the  hills  their  secrets  hold, 

Where  brooding  clouds  hang  over ; 
There  the  soft  winds  unfold 

Glad  thoughts  that  few  discover. 
O  whispering  corn,  be  still! 

My  heart  is  vainly  trying 
To  hear,  through  all  your  rustling  thrill. 

The  deep  tones  underlying. 

Ah,  sweet  escaping  song! 

Mine  ears  can  ne'er  compel  it. 
But  the  little  flower  I  bring  along 

Smiles  up,  and  tries  to  tell  it  1 


72 


DEATH'S   WAY 

Death  had  his  way  with  her  at  last ; 

How  sweet  his  way  I  had  not  known 
Until  her  pain  and  grief  were  past, 

And  she  was  all  his  own. 

I  had  not  dreamed  how  he  could  bless, 
Until  I  saw  how  still  and  sweet 

She  lay  there  in  her  loveliness. 
Content  from  head  to  feet. 

The  smile  was  sweet  upon  her  lips. 
As  if  her  thoughts  were  glad  and  wise ; 

And  sweeter  for  their  light's  eclipse 
The  pure  lids  of  her  eyes. 

Her  hair  lay  in  a  silver  cloud 
About  her  face  on  either  side; 

All  queenly  white,  dark-lashed,  dark-browed. 
She  slept  in  gentle  pride. 

I  crossed  soft  laces  on  her  breast. 
With  loving  touches  lingering; 

And  on  the  worn  hand,  laid  at  rest, 
I  left  her  wedding-ring. 

I  kissed  her,  brow  and  breast  and  hair ; 

Then,  since  I  knew  how  Death  could  bless, 
I  left  her,  trusting,  to  his  care, 

In  all  her  loveliness. 


73 


Songs  of  War 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  GUNNER 

She  lies  within  her  bracings,  with  her  muzzle  out 
to  sea, 
She  is  sleeping,  darkly  sleeping,  in  the  sun ; 
She  is  waiting  for  the  fiery  touch  that  sets  her 
thunders  free, 
For   the  reckoning   when   her   savage   rest   is 
done. 
Oh,  my  lady,  oh,  my  pet! 
I  shall  hear  your  music  yet, 
When  the  foe  shall  set  his  broadside  to  my  gun ! 

As  I  stroke  her  iron  shoulder,  heaving  v/ith  the 
heaving  deck, 
From  her  throat  a  hollow  murmur  seems  to 
start ; 
As  I  whisper,  as  I  listen,  with  my  arm  upon  her 
neck, 
Do  I  hear  a  sullen  throbbing  from  her  heart? 
Oh,  my  beauty,  my  delight ! 
When  you  speak,  by  day  or  night, 
Earth   from   heaven  —  soul   from  body  —  strain 
apart. 

Watching  mutely  through  the  midnight,  watch- 
ing warily  through  the  day, 
While  a  brooding  blackness  veils  her  eye  of 
fire, 
As  the  tiger,  crouching  dumbly,  waits  to  seize  the 
gliding  prey, 
Holding  leashed  the  secret  force  of  his  desire, 
So  she  lingers,  set  to  stand 
To  the  motion  of  my  hand, 
Till  my  summons  wakes  the  tempest  of  her  ire. 


77 


When   the  call   shall  sound  to  action  she  shall 
tremble  in  her  greed; 
She  shall  know  me,  for  her  heart  and  mine  are 
one! 
I  shall  loose  her  rocking  thunders,  I  shall  fit  the 
bolts  that  speed, 
Straight  to  rend,  and  strong  to  shatter,  swift 
to  stun; 
All  her  mighty  thews  shall  thrill 
To  the  passion  of  my  will, 
And  my   soul  shall  send  the  message  of  my 
gun! 

Still  she  lies  within  her  bracings,  with  her  muzzle 
out  to  sea; 
And  I  stroke  her  till  her  steely  shoulders  shine ; 
And  she  slumbers  without  token  of  the  fury  that 
shall  be 
When  the  foe  shall  set  his  broadside  on  her 
line. 
Oh,  my  lady,  my  delight! 
When  I  swing  you  round  to  sight. 
Death  shall   follow,  and  your  triumph  shall  be 
mine! 

THE  WAR  CLOUD,  1898 

On  the  dark  horizon  line 

Muster  the  clouds  of  war; 
And  a  moan  that's  pressed  from  the  sea's  wild 
breast 

Rolls  upward  from  the  shore. 

Swift  runs  the  flaming  sign  — 

The  lightning  bolt  of  wrath  — 
A  nation's  ire,  that  speeds  like  fire. 

With  ravage  in  its  path. 

78 


Where  is  the  power  now, 

Mighty  to  rule  o,r  stay 
The  gleam  abhorred  of  the  hurtling  sword, 

Or  the  blast  that  darkens  day? 

When  shall  the  awful  vow 

That  binds  the  soul  to  death 
Be  all  fulfilled,  and  the  last  blood  spilled, 

And  the  victors  stand  for  breath? 

God  of  unnumbered  hosts ! 

Guide  Thou  our  wrath  and  power, 
That  the  steadfast  light  of  law  and  right 

Shine  through  our  fateful  hour. 

That  when  our  swelling  boasts 

Drop  to  a  dirge  of  woe, 
For  brave  hearts  deep  in  their  dreamless  sleep. 

In  the  cold  sea  depths  below. 

We  own  not  then  the  shame 

Of  fierce,  unmastered  pride, 
That  offered  life  for  a  needless  strife. 

Or  the  hand  of  peace  denied. 

But  know  that  in  Thy  name  — 

God  of  our  souls'  desire !  — 
For  love,  for  truth,  and  for  deepest  ruth, 

We  loosed  the  avenging  fire. 


A  MOTHER  OF  '98 

My  gallant  love  goes  out  to-day. 
With  drums  and  bugles  sounding  gay ; 
I  smile  to  cheer  him  on  his  way  — 
Smile  back,  my  heart,  to  me! 


The  flag-s  are  glittcrinf^  in  the  Hght; 
Is  it  their  stars  that  bhnd  my  sight  ? 
God,  hold  my  tears  until  to-night  — 
Then  set  their  fountains  free! 

He  takes  with  him  the  light  of  May ; 

Alas !  it  seems  but  yesterday 

He  was  a  bright-haired  child  at  play, 

With  eyes  that  knew  no  fear ; 
Blue  eyes  —  true  eyes  !    I  see  them  shine 
Far  down,  along  the  waving  line  — 
Now  meet  them  bravely,  eyes  of  mine ! 

Good  cheer,  my  love,  good  cheer ! 

Oh,  mother-hearts,  that  dare  not  break ! 
That  feel  the  stress,  the  long,  long-  ache. 
The  tears  that  burn,  the  eyes  that  wake, 

For  these  our  cherished  ones  — 
And  ye  —  true  hearts  —  not  called  to  bear 
Such  pain  and  peril,  for  your  share  — 
Oh,  lift  with  me  the  pleading  prayer, 

God  save  our  gallant  sons ! 


BALLAD  OF  THE  ROUGH  RIDERS 

We  heard  the  sound  of  galloping  feet, 

It  struck  to  the  nation's  soul ; 
In  the  far  South-west  we  heard  them  beat ; 
Their  echoes  swept  through  the  city  street. 
With  a  rhythmic  thunder-roll. 
Forward  swing,  forward  swing, 
Strong  and  light  as  an  eagle's  wing, 
For  the  flag. 

80 


These  are  they  who  have  heard  the  call 

Of  a  voice  their  spirits  knew ; 
They  who  follow,  to  fight  or  fall, 
One  who  is  bravest  and  best  of  all 
To  the  young,  the  swift,  the  true. 
Forward  swing,  forward  swing, 
Each  has  only  a  life  to  bring 
For  the  flag. 

These  are  the  men  whose  hearts  are  rife 

With  the  stress  of  the  daring  chase ; 
These  are  the  flower  of  the  nation's  life, 
Picked  men  all,  for  the  desperate  strife, 
Sons  of  a  mettled  race. 

Forward  swing,  forward  swing. 
Who  but  these  can  such  leaders  bring 
To  the  flag? 


Hark !  there  is  scarce  a  hoof-beat's  sound 

In  the  tropic  thickets  deep ; 
All  unhorsed  are  the  riders  found, 
Wearily  over  the  burning  ground 
Their  steadfast  footsteps  creep. 
Still  they  swing,  forward  swing. 
Dauntless,  grim,  unfaltering, 
'Neath  the  flag. 

Straight  they  march  on  the  hidden  foe, 

Capron's  troop  in  the  van ; 
Under  the  maddening  fire  they  go ; 
Hist !  who  falls  ?    Must  the  best  blood  flow  ? 
Ay  —  it  is  but  a  man  ! 

Forward  swing,  forward  swing: 
Ah,  what  glorious  lives  we  fling 
To  the  flag! 

81 


On,  till  the  thorny*  ground  is  won, 

Snatched  by  the  eager  bands ; 
What  of  the  fight  when  all  is  done  ? 
The  foe  shall  answer :    'They  tried,  each  one. 
To  seize  us  with  their  hands!" 
Forward  swing,  forward  swing. 
New  brave  work  shall  the  morrow  bring 
For  the  flag. 

For  lo!  when  the  army  sweeps  along 

To  the  bloody  hill-top's  crest, 
Climbing  and  conquering,  thousands  strong, 
There  do  the  unhorsed  riders  throng, 
Up  —  with  the  first  and  best. 
Forward  swing,  forward  swing. 
Living,  follow  —  and  dying,  cling 
To  the  flag. 

Sounding  still,  with  an  echo  sweet. 
Through  the  nation's  inmost  soul. 
We  hear  the  tramp  of  those  toiling  feet, 
And  the  hoofs  of  the  leader's  horse,  that  beat 
With  a  rhythmic  thunder-roll. 
Forward  swing,  forward  swing. 
Such  are  the  hearts,  the  lives,  we  bring 
For  the  flag! 


•Las  Guasimas — The  Thorns. 


82 


THE  MEN  WE  ARE 

We  are  toilers  and  dreamers  and  plotters, 

We  are  rulers  and  fathers  of  men; 
We  sleep  under  peaceful  roof-trees, 

We  rise  to  our  work  again; 
We  sing  of  love  by  the  hearthstone, 

We  kiss  dear  lips  at  the  door. 
And  That  lies  cold  within  us 

That  we  think  shall  rise  no  more. 
But  hark,  the  bugle !    It  calls  from  far, 
Each  note  drops  clear  as  a  falling  star ; 
Ye  shall  know  us  now  for  the  men  we  are. 

Up  and  away  —  away! 
Be  we  men  or  brutes,  that  we  leap  to  life 
At  the  sound  and  scent  of  the  teeming  strife  ? 
That  gain  nor  labor,  nor  child  nor  wife. 

Shall  bid  us  shrink  or  stay? 

For  the  women  hear  by  the  fireside. 

They  come  with  their  eyes  aflame 
To  press  the  sword  to  our  holding. 

To  cry  to  the  laggard,  shame! 
And  the  children  dance  to  the  bugle, 

They  run  to  their  mimic  fight ; 
And  That  which  we  sought  to  stifle 

Now  stings  us  to  fierce  delight. 
Oh,  hark,  the  bugle !    It  leads  us  far ; 
We  follow,  follow,  a  flaming  star! 
Ye  know  us  now  for  the  men  we  are  — 

What  lives  in  our  blood  and  breath. 
There's  a  day  that  never  will  dawn  again, 
There's  a  cause  to  scorn  or  to  save,  and  then, 
Whether  ye  name  us  brutes  or  men. 

The  hazard  is  life  or  death. 


83 


THE  SOLDIER  IDEAL 

There  are  those  who  follow  the  rainbow, 

The  shining  dream  of  peace, 
Their  only  prayer  that  the  sword  shall  drop, 

And  the  bugle-call  shall  cease. 
Their  hands  are  cold  and  nerveless; 

They  have  let  the  standards  trail ; 
And  when  men  cried,  'The  cause!  the  cause!" 

They  have  answered,  **Let  it  fail !" 

But  we  have  not  so  learned  manhood. 

We  have  not  so  known  life; 
We  hold  that  the  soul  is  strong  in  those 

Who  have  scorned  the  flesh  in  strife. 
We  will  lie  in  blood  and  anguish, 

We  will  toil  in  fierce  unrest. 
For  the  seed  of  power  in  the  land  we  love. 

For  the  cause  her  hopes  have  blest. 

They  say  we  strike  as  the  brute  strikes. 

They  say  that  we  hate  the  foe ; 
They  call  us  mad  with  lust  of  blood,  — 

By  the  truth  of  God,  not  so ! 
We  are  sworn  to  a  faith  —  a  vision,  — 

Soul  fronting  soul,  we  stand ; 
And  the  foe  who  bleeds  for  the  dream  he  serves 

We  heal  with  a  tender  hand. 

Our  work  is  crowned  as  Duty, 

It  is  done  —  to  our  utmost  breath! 
Our  joy  is  the  stress  of  peril, 

Our  light  is  the  face  of  Death. 
We  make  no  boast  of  courage. 

We  make  no  moan  for  pain ; 
And  if  we  falter,  at  last  —  but  once  — 

We  have  lived  our  years  in  vain. 

84 


If  the  life  of  ease  be  noblest^ 

If  the  highest  gain  be  gold  ; 
If  that  be  grace  which  is  won  with  shame, 

Or  peace  which  is  bought  and  sold ; 
If  life  be  the  goal  to  pant  for. 

And  only  the  flesh  be  life,  — 
Then  are  we  bound  by  an  idle  oath 

To  a  false  and  bestial  strife. 

But  the  heart  of  the  child  is  with  us. 

And  under  our  shield  we  guard 
The  love  and  strength  of  the  woman. 

The  sight  and  song  of  the  bard. 
We  have  marched  to  the  truth  through  struggle. 

Through  blood  and  fire  to  the  light; 
And  the  toilers  of  peace  have  blessed  our  names, 

In  prayers  of  the  quiet  night. 

We  have  stood  at  the  front  of  nations. 

We  have  built  their  age-long  fame ; 
We  have  passed  them  back,  with  bleeding  hands. 

The  gifts  we  were  spent  to  claim. 
And  they  who  follow  the  rainbow. 

The  shining  dream  of  peace. 
Shall  owe  their  rest  to  our  fearless  toil, 

When  the  bugle-call  shall  cease. 


THE    RESERVE 

I  stand  where  rolling  vapors  shroud 

The  golden  hills  that  spread  so  fair ; 
Pale  light  is  filtered  through  the  cloud, 

Thick  moisture  weights  the  clinging  air. 
I  see  no  flash  beyond  the  gloom, 

Yet  there  the  flame  of  battle  runs. 
And  thence  is  borne  the  cry  of  doom, 

The  broken  thunder  of  the  guns ! 

My  soul  is  shaken  with  their  din. 

Rocked  with  the  standards  borne  on  high ; 
I  feel  the  sweeping  charge  begin ; 

My  heart  is  spent  with  those  who  die ! 
Yet  back  and  forth,  with  measured  pace. 

Beside  the  breast-works  blank  and  tall, 
I  march  the  track  with  unmoved  face. 

And  hold  my  manhood's  blood  in  thrall. 

The  war-horse  neighs  behind  the  gate, 

The  horseman  soothes  him,  at  his  side ; 
I  guard  the  patient  ranks  that  wait. 

Heart-spurred,    but    silent,  —  restless-eyed. 
They  may  not  break  the  bound  that  keeps 

Each  man  an  atom  in  his  place ; 
No  baser  is  the  guard  that  sleeps 

Than  he  who  leaps  the  appointed  space! 

With  steady  tramp,  with  close-locked  lip, 

I  bear  inert  the  silent  gun. 
See  how  the  standards  rise  and  dip, 

There  —  where  the  scattering  vapors  run ! 
Who  calls?    Who  passes?    Who  complains? 

Who  gives  the  challenge  and  reply? 
My  heart  is  tugging  at  its  chains. 

And  pleading  to  the  smoke-dimmed  sky! 

86 


Noon  dies,  —  nor  finds  the  fighting  done  ; 

Still  shriek  the  guns  be3^ond  the  hill; 
We  know  not  if  the  day  be  won, 

We  trust  the  word  that  holds  us  still. 
Bravest  when  we  at  last  despair 

Of  summons  swift  by  bugle  call,  — 
Ah,  praise  us,  comrades !    for  we  bear 

A  strain  that  makes  your  struggle  small ! 

Oh,  glorious  ranks  that  break  and  charge, 

That  feel  the  fierce  unchecked  desire  — 
The  hope  that  stings  —  the  impulse  large 

That  spurns  the  force  of  steel  and  fire! 
With  what  high  hearts  you  play  with  fate, 

Meet  scathe  or  death,  and  cheering  fall ! 
Take  ye  God-speed  from  us  who  wait. 

Mute  guards  beneath  the  barrack  wall! 


Earlier  Poems 


THE  WATCHER 

I  sat  in  the  silence,  in  moonlight  that  gathered 
and  glowed 
Far  over  the  field  and  forest,  with  tender  in- 
crease ; 
The  low,  rushing  winds  in  the  trees  were  like 
waters  that  flowed 
From  sources  of  passionate  joy  to  an  ocean  of 
peace. 
And  I  watched,  and  was  glad  in  my  heart,  though 
the  shadows  were  deep, 
Till  one  came  and  asked  me,  "Say  why  dost 
thou  watch  through  the  night?" 
And  I  said,  "I  am  watching  my  joy !    They  who 
sorrow  may  sleep, 
But  the  soul  that  is  glad  cannot  part  with  one 
hour  of  delight." 

Again  in  the  silence  I  watched,  and  the  moon 
had  gone  down; 
The   shadows   were   hidden   in   darkness ;   the 
winds  had  passed  by ; 
The  midnight  sat  throned,  and  the  jewels  were 
bright  in  her  crown, 
For  stars  glimmered  softly,  oh,  softly,  from 
depths  of  the  sky. 
And  I  sighed  as  I  watched  all  alone,  till  again 
came  a  voice : 
"Ah,  why  dost  thou  watch?    Joy  is  over,  and 
sorrow  is  vain." 
And  I  said,  *T  am  watching  my  grief.    Let  them 
sleep  who  rejoice, 
But  the  spirit  that  loves  cannot  part  with  one 
hour  of  its  pain." 


91 


Once  more  I  sat  watching,  in  darkness  that  fell 
like  a  death. 
The  deep,  solemn  darkness  that  comes  to  make 
way  for  the  dawn ; 
I  looked  on  the  earth,  and  it  slept  without  motion 
or  breath ; 
And  blindly  I  looked  on  the  sky,  but  the  stars 
were  withdrawn ; 
And   the   voice   spoke   once   more :     "Cease   thy 
watching,  for  what  dost  thou  gain?" 
But  I  said,  'T  am  watching  my  soul,  to  this 
darkness  laid  bare. 
Let  them  sleep  to  whom  love  giveth  joy,  to  whom 
love  giveth  pain, 
But  the  soul  left  alone  cannot  part  with  one 
moment  of  prayer." 


LOSS  AND  GAIN 

She  walked  apart,  along  the  height. 

The  stars  above  her  bending  head, 
And,  marked  by  many  a  twinkling  light, 

Below  her  steps  the  world  was  spread. 
On  one  side  drooped  her  shadowy  hair ; 

As  slow  she  moved,  her  white  robe  shone; 
She  lived  in  love's  enchanted  air,  — 

The  love  of  One! 

Lo!  from  her  dreary  height  she  stepped 

Down  to  the  world  in  lowly  guise ; 
Strange  grief  within  her  heart  she  kept. 

Deep  wonder  in  her  wistful  eyes. 
And  now,  as  soft  her  footsteps  move 

Along  the  valley's  winding  fall. 
She  knows  a  purer,  lonelier  love,  — 

The  love  of  All! 

92 


CHANGES 

How  soon  the  wreath  of  summer  droops  and  falls 

From  the  year's  languid  hands!     Alas,   how 
soon, 

In  calms  of  fading  sun  and  brightening  moon. 
The  still  earth  lists  the  Father's  gentle  calls, 
Which  say,  "Give  back  thy  sweets  —  lay  down 
thy  flowers  — 

Awhile,  O  Earth,  thy  dear  delights  forego. 

That   thou    awhile   no   life   save   hope   may'st 
know. 
And  rest  in  patience,  numbering  barren  hours!" 
Flow  sweetly  Earth  prepares  her  for  the  change. 

And  suffers  all  her  blooms  to  fall  away ! 

How  calm  and  gradual  is  the  slow  decay. 
Till  loss  itself  no  more  seems  hard  or  strange. 
O  peaceful  snow !     O  spirit-flower,  that  lives, 

A  wondrous  bloom,  upon  the  leafless  waste! 

O  time  that  glides  without  delay  or  haste, 
While  winter  dreams  of  more  than  summer  gives ! 
So  would  I  learn  to  bid  my  joys  farewell, 

And  enter  desolate  ways  with  quiet  heart ; 

For  He  who  calls  me  thus  to  mourn  apart. 
Can  speak  through  silence  with  so  sweet  a  spell. 

And  strike  so  strange  a  joy  through  loss  and 
pain, 

That  rapture's  self  can  hold  no  richer  gain. 


93 


The  After-Word 
IF   WORDS   COULD   REACH   THEE 

Dear  soul,  if  words  could  reach  thee, 

What  messag-e  should  be  thine ! 
New  readings  of  love's  hidden  lore, 

From  this  blind  heart  of  mine ; 
New  wisdom  wrunj>-  from  living. 

By  death  alone  made  clear ; 
Dear  soul,  if  words  could  reach  thee. 

Thou  would'st  be  glad  to  hear ! 

Dear  love,  if  grief  could  touch  thee. 

How  well  thy  heart  would  know 
The  passion  of  untold  regret. 

The  helpless  tears  that  flow 
For  days  unblest  and  weary 

Through  life's  too  stern  demand. 
Dear  soul,  if  grief  could  touch  thee, 

Thy  heart  would  understand ! 

Dear  heart,  if  Love  can  find  thee, 

(He  knows  the  larger  way). 
Then  must  thou  hear  the  broken  song 

He  brings  to  thee  to-day, 
And  with  the  old  sweet  welcome 

Give  solace  to  his  pain ; 
Dear  heart,  if  Love  can  find  thee, 

He  will  not  plead  in  vain ! 


94 


lVl2685S2a 


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